


Peter

by eideann



Category: NCIS
Genre: Abduction, Case Fic, Gibbs is a bastard, M/M, Parental Jethro Gibbs, Ransom Demand, Stubborn Gibbs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 49,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eideann/pseuds/eideann
Summary: When Tony is late to work on the Monday after one of their all too few free weekends, Gibbs thinks little of it but how he’ll ride his senior agent when he does get in.  Ten minutes, twenty-five minutes, an hour, and Tony’s desk phone is ringing off the hook.Gibbs never had too much of an opinion of DiNozzo’s dad, but when he answers the phone to find DiNozzo Sr. yelling at his son that the ransom demand is a stupid prank, his opinion takes a sharp nosedive.  Forced by Tony’s father’s indifference to take action on his own, Gibbs calls Fornell and they begin to investigate together.Meanwhile, Tony wakes up in uncomfortable circumstances to kidnappers who don’t seem to care if he sees their faces – and one deeply scary individual who seems to want more than money out of Tony.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this stage in the story, the two timelines are not strictly aligned. Please keep that in mind as you read.

Gibbs strode through the open plan office, eyes and ears ahead as always. DiNozzo's desk was empty, and he could see Ziva and McGee talking, though their voices were low so he couldn't quite hear them yet. There was, however, a distinct air of _oh shit_ about their attitudes, which implied that DiNozzo wasn't just in the head. Gibbs suppressed a sigh. Monday morning after a weekend with no work, and Tony was late. Big shocker. He'd come running in sometime in the next ten minutes, full of apologies that he would keep inside, and stories that he'd try to tell when Gibbs was away from his desk.

"I know he did not have any special plans," Ziva was saying as Gibbs came within earshot.

"That doesn't mean anything," McGee replied. "It wouldn't take much more than a great pair of legs attached to a girl in the right frame of mind for that to change."

"I suppose. Is he late often?"

There was doubt in McGee's voice when he answered. "Not really. Gibbs really doesn't like it. Rule 5, you know."

"Right." Ziva let out a deep sigh. "If he did get laid, we are going to be hearing about it all day."

"If he didn't get laid, we'll hear about it all day," McGee replied.

"At least he'd be accomplishing something," Gibbs said mildly, and they scattered to their desks. They didn't have anything big going at the moment, but that didn't mean it was chat time. Ten minutes came and went, and Gibbs began to be mildly disturbed. "McGee? Give Tony a call, would you?"

"Called him five times on his landline and his cell, Boss, no answer."

"Well, try again," Gibbs replied. McGee bent to his phone, and Gibbs turned back to his reports. After a few minutes, he looked up and McGee shook his head. Gibbs returned to the task at hand, trying to ignore the nagging of his gut. At nine it was far too early to be seriously worried.

Tony's phone began to ring, and Gibbs looked up. It wasn't the first time it had rung this morning, in fact it was probably the tenth. Two rings. Three rings. Driven by an impulse he didn't entirely understand, Gibbs rose and crossed to DiNozzo's desk and picked up his phone. "NCIS."

"Anthony, of all the adolescent pranks you've ever pulled, this is certainly the worst."

"This isn't –"

"You've got your stepmother in a tizzy, all for nothing. I want you to apologize to her and then –"

"This is not Anthony!" Gibbs said with a little added volume. Ziva and McGee looked up, and the bastard on the phone shut up. "This is Special Agent Gibbs. What practical joke, may I ask?"

"He had one of his idiot friends call my home at five this morning with a ransom demand."

Gibbs blinked. One thing he'd always known about DiNozzo was that he came from money. "A ransom demand," he repeated. Like a pair of gophers, his other agents stood up, first McGee, then Ziva. "Have you contacted the police or the FBI?"

"You clearly don't know my son very well. This is just the sort of thing he'd pull to get attention. In fact, he's probably there right now, laughing, isn't he?"

Gibbs counted to ten. "As a matter of fact, he's not. I would recommend you make those calls, Mr. DiNozzo. What was the ransom?"

"Fifteen million dollars. It's ridiculous. Tell Anthony to call when he's in the mood to be serious." There was a beep, as of a cordless phone being shut off, followed by a series of clicks as the exchange reset, and then the dial tone commenced.

Gibbs stared straight ahead for several moments, not seeing what was in front of him. Then he slammed the phone down so hard that both McGee and Ziva jumped. "Ziva, start calling hospitals and the local LEOs. I want to know if there are reports of anything that might concern Tony. McGee, you're with me." Without waiting, he grabbed his gear and headed for the elevator.

McGee caught up with him before the doors closed. "Where we going, Boss?" McGee asked.

"DiNozzo's apartment," Gibbs replied.

There was a brief pause, then with palpable nervousness, McGee asked, "What's going on, Boss?"

"DiNozzo's father received a ransom demand at 0500 this morning," Gibbs replied.

"Why hadn't we heard about it yet?"

"Because DiNozzo's father is an idiot."

"So he really didn't even call the police?" McGee asked. Gibbs just raised an eyebrow. "Is he afraid the kidnappers will hurt Tony or –"

"No!" Gibbs snapped. McGee bit his lip and turned to face front. He clearly wanted more information, he deserved more information, and just as clearly he wasn't going to ask for it. "He thinks it's a practical joke," Gibbs said in a milder tone of voice.

McGee blinked. "Oh."

The elevator came to a halt, and just before the doors opened, Gibbs said, "That man really is a bastard." Then he started walking, letting McGee keep up if he could.

* * *

Tony knew something was wrong even before he opened his eyes. After all, his place didn't smell this musty, and he couldn't see himself willingly lying down to sleep anywhere that did. Someone was pacing nearby, not in the room but just outside, and that was odd, too. The real key to the wrongness, though, lay in the handcuffs binding his wrists together in front. He lay on his side on a soft surface that felt entirely unfamiliar, and his head ached abominably. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Bare ceiling joists above him, concrete walls, it looked like a cellar. What was he doing in a cellar? He glanced down at his body and restructured his question. What was he doing naked and handcuffed in a cellar on an inflatable bed?

He had a burn on his chest, and he stared at it, trying to remember how he'd come by it. He didn't know for certain that it was important, but it seemed sort of likely under the circumstances. Sunday night. He'd gone out clubbing in Georgetown and had struck out completely. What happened after that? His memory was not very clear, and he really didn't think he'd drunk enough to account for the fuzziness in his head, especially since there was no accompanying nausea.

There was a radiator hissing gently in the corner, which explained his lack of shivering and shrinkage. Even in summer, cellars like this one tended to be too cool for casual nudity. He stood up awkwardly and began to explore his prison. First, of course, he checked to see if the door would open. It would not, and both the lock and the door itself felt very solid. When he jiggled the knob, the footsteps on the other side stopped.

"Agent DiNozzo?" came a deep voice. It was a man, but that was all Tony could tell for sure.

"Let me out of here," Tony demanded. "What's going on?" He couldn't think of any case he'd worked on recently that had the potential to bring about imprisonment in a cellar. Naked imprisonment in a cellar. The possibility remained that it was related to an older case, but that opened the field pretty far. He'd been working in law enforcement since college.

"Your father is giving us some trouble."

Tony stared at the door in silence for a long moment. That did not bode well. His father gave lots of people trouble, and if one of them had grabbed Tony to try and persuade his father to cooperate, they were likely to have a long wait.

"Did you hear me, Agent DiNozzo? Your father is giving us some trouble."

"What do you expect me to do about it?" Tony asked. "I'm locked in a room." He looked around again. The walls were solid concrete and so was the floor. "A cement box."

"He's treating this situation like a joke."

Trust his father to turn stupid. Tony grimaced. "Let me out of here, and I'll go tell him how serious it is."

"Nice try. Step away from the door. I'm coming in, and I'm armed."

Tony readied himself and waited. It opened out, so there was no real chance of concealment, but he hoped to get the drop on this guy and get out. He'd wind up arrested for being naked in public, but being arrested would gain him clothes and a phone call, both good things. And hopefully the situation would keep him off the sex offender registry.

He heard the thunk as the bolt shot back, but he waited. As soon as the latch clicked, he kicked the door hard, slamming it into the man on the other side. He ran through the opening, hoping that he wasn't about to get himself shot.

"Stop! Son of a bitch!"

The door opened onto a larger room with a staircase in the opposite corner. Tony took off running and started up the stairs. The door at the top opened before he was more than halfway up and a woman emerged. Her eyes widened upon seeing him, and she charged down the stairs, reaching into her pocket. When she pulled out a pale pink stun gun, he immediately recalled her from the previous night, but he didn't have time for thought, because she activated it when she was only a foot or so away. Caught between steps, Tony stumbled and fell, smacking tender and uncovered portions of his anatomy against the corners of the stairs.

"What, leaving so soon?" she asked, grabbing his hair and pulling his head up. "Good, you're still conscious. We need you awake."

By the time he'd freed his head and gotten back to his feet, the man from outside the door had shown up. He was broad and beefy, and he had a bloody nose. He grabbed Tony by the arm and punched him in the stomach, making him double over his bound wrists. "I told you to back away from the door."

"He's a federal agent," the woman said. "I told you we should chain him to the radiator."

"I'd just as soon you didn't," Tony gasped out. It hadn't been a damaging blow, but it was uncomfortable.

She stroked his arm, and he twitched away from her. "I'm sure you'd prefer that, Tony, but we must keep you in your room. Escape isn't an option."

Tony gave her his best sheepish grin. "Actually, I was just thinking that steel is a fine conductor of heat, and I'd rather not get burned."

She laughed. "I hadn't thought of it like that." Tony kept his smile on his face with an effort. That she found any part of this situation funny was mildly disturbing.

"I had," the man muttered. He jerked Tony along towards the door back to the radiator room. It was colder out here. Tony was beginning to shiver. He felt distinctly underdressed for this party, but he let himself be dragged along, watching the woman and her stun gun. She kept pace, talking to the man.

"Maybe you can set a bolt into the wall," she suggested, and the man made a noncommittal noise. She was holding the stun gun in her far hand. Tony wouldn't be able to grab it, but he could kick it out of her grasp.

While they were absorbed with each other, Tony kicked hard at her hand, sending the stupid thing flying. He shouldered the guy aside and took off running up the stairs again. They'd have to run out of people to come out the door eventually.

Gunshots in enclosed spaces were not fun. Tony stopped short two steps below the top, staring at the bullet that was lodged in the door. It hadn't gone through, which argued for either a low-powered handgun or a very solid door. Either way, it was more than enough to do damage to unprotected human flesh. Tony looked to his right and down. Big and beefy was now aiming for Tony's leg and the lady with the stunning personality had a radio out and was talking.

Away was better. Even away and shot was better, and blood trails were hard to completely erase. He grabbed the door handle. The woman hadn't had time to lock it when she'd launched herself at him with the stun gun. He pulled the door open and found himself face to face with a .44 magnum. It was persuasive. He backed down from the landing. "What is going on down here?" demanded the new man in a faintly amused tone. Tony wrenched his eyes away from the gun and to the man's face. Without the gun, Tony would not have found this man intimidating in the slightest. He was short and slight, with curly hair that rode the line between blond and brown. "There are two of you. He's cuffed and naked. What am I paying you for?" Tony would certainly not have pegged this wimpy-looking guy with a reedy voice as the man in charge, but the reactions of his people made it clear that Tony would have been wrong. They both looked terrified, and Tony caught a little of their alarm as the man turned to him. "Tony, I think you'd better go back down the steps like a good boy."

Little as he liked obeying the little prick, the barrel of the gun never wavered, and the man held it like he knew how to use it. Tony started down the stairs. The repeated boosts of adrenaline had taken a lot out of him, and he hadn't exactly felt up to par when he woke up. He was shivering again, and he really wanted to know what they hoped to get out of this. The fact that he'd seen all their faces also disturbed him somewhat. Kidnappers who let you see their faces didn't usually plan to let you live.

All three of them accompanied him into the radiator room which, due to the door having stayed open all this time, had lost a lot of heat. Both men kept their guns out, and the woman had tucked her radio back into a pocket. They stopped and Tony stopped too, not sure what to do next.

"Mr. Anthony Leonard DiNozzo." This was the little but scary guy. "Please, be seated." The only possible place to sit down was the blow up mattress, and it would put his head significantly lower than everyone else's. Tony didn't want to do it, but big and beefy twitched his gun barrel slightly, and Tony did as he was told. He was glad his hands were bound in front. They provided some measure of cover. The little guy turned to the woman. "Do you have it, Lola?"

"Of course," she replied. She reached into another pocket of her cargo pants and pulled out a little video camera. Tony swallowed. Now they were going to ask him to read something, or say something, or whatever. He didn't want to play. Especially not naked.

The little guy flipped his suit jacket back and holstered his gun in a shoulder harness that looked like it had seen a fair amount of use. Then he squatted down, resting his elbows on his knees, and gazed at Tony with what seemed to be a sympathetic expression. "Your situation got worse slightly before you became aware of it," he said. "You see, we called your father early this morning with a ransom demand." Tony nodded. It seemed to be the thing to do. "We got your stepmother, and she became hysterical."

Tony broke in. "My stepmother? Joyce? I don't think so. You must have gotten the housekeeper or something. Joyce wouldn't become hysterical if her shoes were on fire."

"Really?" Peter asked. "How intriguing. Well, regardless, the woman I spoke to first became hysterical. This led to your father taking the phone, and he went to the opposite extreme, telling us that it wasn't a very funny joke and that he would deal with you later."

Tony grimaced and shook his head. "You didn't research my family too carefully, did you?" he asked.

The man gazed silently at him for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose I missed a few things. I'm only human, after all. But your father is the sort of staid Italian businessman to whom the first – and in this case only – son is a very important commodity, no matter what the son's choice of occupation."

Tony snorted. "Have you ever even met my father?" he asked.

The man nodded thoughtfully. "A few times. I must have misread him."

"Maybe," Tony said. He was trying to keep his responses as neutral as possible. He was dead. He was so dead.

"Now another call has been placed, at an hour by which your father must certainly have discovered that you were not where you were supposed to be, and it, too, was greeted with anger at you."

Tony shrugged. Great. He wondered if Gibbs had started looking, or if he was assuming that Tony was just late. He hoped he'd started looking, because if he relied on his father for help, he'd be dead sooner rather than later. "So, what now?" he asked. "Who are you, anyway?"

"You can call me Peter," the little guy said. "And now I need your help to persuade your father that the situation is serious."

Tony didn't like where this was heading. "I told Butch there that I would happily go explain it to him. All I need is some pants and bus fare."

Peter chuckled as he stood up. "I'm afraid that's out of the question." He looked over at big and beefy. "Butch, huh?" The big guy glowered at Tony. "That will do." Peter backed up several steps. "Go easy on him, Butch. We'll need somewhere to go from here."

Tony stood up and backed away from Butch. "Could we maybe talk about this? Some kind of . . . I don't know – I'm naked, for pity's sake."

Peter tilted his head. "You make a reasonable point. We should, perhaps, keep the proof of life PG-13. Lola, go get him his pants." She pocketed the camera and left the room. "Butch, I think we're going to have to immobilize our federal agent."

"I can take him," Butch said sourly.

"Yes," Peter said with exaggerated patience, "but I don't want a video of him dodging you. Let's tie his hands to one of the balusters."

"The what?"

Peter sighed. "The uprights on the stair railing."

Tony looked back and forth between his captors. "Look, I really don't think this is necessary. Can't I just read something? I'll look scared, I promise! It won't be hard."

"He'll be expecting something like that if he thinks you're playing a joke on him." Peter shook his head. "I _am_ sorry, Tony. The demonstration has to be convincing." Tony started to fight back when Butch grabbed for him, but Peter pulled out the gun again. "I suppose I could shoot you somewhere unimportant," he said, and Tony got the point. He went with Butch.

When he was positioned to their liking against the stairway, Butch uncuffed his left hand while Peter covered him. He threaded the cuffs through the stair railing and closed it around Tony's wrist again, leaving Tony standing with arms above his head. It was a particularly vulnerable position, and, naked as he was, humiliating. Lola came trotting down the stairs with his slacks and took a long look at him. "It must be cold in here," she said. "How's he going to put these on?"

"Put them on for him, Lola."

"Now, that's really not necessary," Tony said.

"If you want your pants on, it is," Peter replied.

Lola went down on her knees in front of him, and Tony looked away. This was nuts. She tapped his right foot. "Lift," she said with a lilt in her voice. He grit his teeth and picked up his foot. She slipped the pants around his ankle, then patted his other foot. Then she pulled the pants up his legs and buttoned them. He didn't generally like to go commando in his slacks, but at least he was covered, although having her zip his fly was certainly distracting.

"Now I think we're ready," Peter said.

"I'm really not," Tony said.

Peter stepped back. "Lola?"

She backed up several feet and pulled out her camera. Tony straightened his neck and glanced over at Butch who was pulling on a mask and a pair of gloves. Not boxing gloves. He grimaced and looked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written, or at least started, back in like 2007 or 2008. A long time ago, at any rate. It is set soon after Ziva joined the team and long before Tony's father showed up on the show. This is, in fact, the story that required me to name Tony's father, and I missed Tony's middle initial that we saw on screen in Season 3. By the time I knew, I had already firmly named him Anthony Leonard DiNozzo II, and had him going by his middle name. Once a name is attached in my mind, it's difficult to change it, so he's stuck with it in my stories.
> 
> I stopped watching the show in roughly season 8, but plan to go back and watch it, so please avoid spoilers in your comments in reviews if you can.
> 
> Oh, and I really appreciate the immediate flood of reviews.
> 
> Also, sorry for the wodge of text, but to the guest reviewer, Barbara, and anyone else who is thinking this . . . This is not a work in progress. It is completely written, and was finished YEARS ago. I post chapter by chapter for 3 reasons. 1) It stokes anticipation. 2) It gives me a chance to recheck each chapter as I go. 3) If you post a whole 60,000 word story in one go, you get one, maybe two reviews. I'm a review junkie, so I post them a week apart because that way I get bunches of reviews. :)

Gibbs fished the keys out of his pocket as they approached the door to Tony's apartment. McGee stood in silence while Gibbs opened the door, and if he wondered why their team leader had a key to DiNozzo's apartment, he didn't ask. Gibbs was reasonably certain that McGee still took Tony's facade for reality and didn't see the miserably insecure man beneath it. He certainly didn't know about the minor breakdown Tony had suffered after being forced to kill Jeffrey White. What reaction Tony had been unable to repress at work, most people had put down to being chained unknowingly to a serial killer.

Only Gibbs had heard Tony's confession – knew Tony's grief for what it was. He'd come to like that pathetic man, hadn't seen through the shell to the killer beneath. Having to kill White or be killed had shaken him to the core, but Tony just didn't let people in. Gibbs knew a thing or two about that, and he'd come by a few times to check on Tony. After the first time, he'd ordered his senior field agent to provide him with a key for the front door, fully aware that Tony wouldn't refuse. Wouldn't even think of it.

They stepped inside. "Tony?" Gibbs called, just on the off chance that someone was playing a prank on Tony's father. There was no response, but he really hadn't expected one. "Look for anything out of place."

McGee nodded and they split up. Gibbs headed towards the bedrooms and McGee took the more public parts of the house. There was nothing to see. The bed wasn't made, at least not to Gibbs' standards, but other than that, things were neat and ordinary. He met up with McGee in the living room where the most junior of his agents was looking around, seeming puzzled.

"Something wrong, McGee?" he asked.

"This just . . . doesn't seem like Tony, somehow," McGee said.

Gibbs looked around. Expensive prints, designer furniture, flat screen TV, a scattering of sports magazines. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, I just always . . . I pictured Tony's place as sort of a bachelor pad."

"This is a bachelor pad, McGee."

"No, I mean . . . take out containers and mess, you know. Bachelor pad."

Gibbs nodded, understanding finally. "He has a cleaning service," he replied. "And he brings women here."

"So?"

Gibbs shook his head. If McGee didn't understand the importance of cleanliness in that sense, he wasn't going to be the one to tell him. He wondered what McGee's place looked like. Kate had described it as a server room crossed with a college dorm, whatever that meant.

His phone rang. He grabbed it. "Gibbs."

"A maintenance worker found Tony's gun and his wallet in a trash can in Georgetown," Ziva said without preamble. "We are very lucky, because he took it to the police instead of trying to sell it."

"Where in Georgetown?" She gave the approximate location and he started towards the door. "Anything else?"

"Not so far," she said.

"Get them both to Abby."

"Yes Gibbs."

"And get the maintenance worker to meet me there and keep calling." He clicked the phone off and turned to McGee. "DiNozzo's gun was found in Georgetown."

"That's . . . not good."

"You think, McGee?"

The younger man kept silent all the way down to the car and almost all they way to their destination. He sat up straight then and started looking around. "Where are we going, Boss?" he asked.

"The trash can where the gun was found."

McGee fell silent again, but he looked troubled. Gibbs got to the block and found it parked solid. He pulled up to the side of the road directly in front of the trash can, popped his blinkers on and got out. McGee waited until the traffic slowed and followed him. "Boss?"

"Yeah, McGee?" Gibbs didn't look at him. He was busy scanning the street and the sidewalk for his maintenance worker.

"I've been here before, with Tony," McGee said.

This got his attention, and he turned to face McGee. "Go on."

"There's a club on the next block that Tony really likes. He bullied me into going there with him a couple months ago."

"A good spot for a snatch, then," Gibbs said. McGee nodded uneasily. "How often does he go there?" Gibbs asked intently.

"From what he said then and things he's said since, at least every other week, maybe more often sometimes."

"So if they watched long enough, they'd get a chance."

"Yeah," McGee said with a grimace.

Gibbs pulled out his phone and dialed. "Ziva, where's my maintenance worker?" he demanded. She was trying to come up with an answer to the question when Gibbs saw a black man in a dark green coverall moving towards them. "Never mind," he said into the phone and closed it again.

"You Special Agent Gibbs?" the man asked. Now that he was closer, Gibbs could see the name on the chest of his coverall, Jackson.

"Yes, and this is Special Agent McGee. You're the one who found the gun?"

"Yes sir," Jackson said. "I was emptying the bag early this morning and I saw the shape pressing out against the side of the bag. I took it to my truck and dumped the whole thing out in the bed because I wasn't about to stick my hand in there. You never know what kind of crap people throw away these days."

"Very wise," McGee said.

"So, I found the gun and the wallet."

"No cell phone?" Gibbs asked.

"No sir. I gave everything I found to the police. They even asked for the garbage that was in the bag with the gun. Why I don't know."

Gibbs nodded, and he hoped they'd send the whole mess of it over to Abby. "When was that bag last emptied?"

"Should have been sometime yesterday afternoon. Depends on whether the guy on that shift got around to it."

"Approximately what hour?"

Jackson shrugged. "Between three and five, I'd guess. You'd have to check with the guy who does it. We all have our own routes and ways to get stuff done."

"Okay. Give your contact information to Agent McGee." While McGee was getting that, Gibbs turned and looked around. Even at night, this area couldn't be completely deserted, especially not if there was a club nearby. As soon as McGee was ready, Gibbs said, "Take me to this club of yours."

"It's Tony's," McGee replied. "It's not really my scene." Gibbs just stared at him. "This way," he said, starting off down the street. Gibbs kept an eye out for good spots for an ambush, but there was really no sure way to guess. There were at least three or four alleys along the way. And for all they knew, someone had slipped him something in his drink, though Tony had gotten a lot more careful about that after his experience with GHB. Apparently he hadn't enjoyed waking up locked in a room with one live marine and a couple of dead ones.

"This is it," McGee said, pointing to a door with a simple neon sign over it. Ziz.

"That's a club?" Gibbs asked.

"Complete with red carpet and velvet rope to corral the unworthy," McGee said sourly. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know, McGee. Let's see if there's anyone home." He walked up and tried the door. It was locked, so he pounded, waited for a few moments, then pounded again.

The door opened abruptly, and Gibbs stepped back. A young woman stood there, her dark hair held back with a red headband and her hands covered with yellow rubber gloves. "Yes?" she asked in a distinctly Slavic accent.

"Are you the only one here?" he asked.

"Yes?" she asked again.

"Boss, I don't think she speaks any English."

Gibbs closed his eyes and counted to five. "Really McGee?" The young man looked suitably chastened, and Gibbs pursed his lips. He pulled out his phone and called Ziva again. "Do you speak any Slavic languages?"

"I do."

"I'm about to hand the phone to a woman who doesn't appear to speak any English. See if you can get her to tell you if there's anyone else at the club."

"What club?"

"Just ask her, Ziva," Gibbs said impatiently. Then he handed the phone to the girl.

She took it, looking puzzled, but gamely held it to her ear. "Yes?" she said, and Gibbs didn't strangle her. She listened for a couple of seconds, her brows knit. "No," she said.

"Well, she got a new word out of her, Boss," McGee said. Gibbs didn't look at him, he just waited to see if Ziva would have any success.

The girl listened a couple more times and said no, but then her eyes brightened and she began to speak in a liquid tongue that Gibbs couldn't quite place. She paused a couple of times, clearly listening to questions, then answering them. Then she held the phone out to him. "For you," she said.

"Ziva?"

"Yes," she said in a passable imitation of the girl, and Gibbs ground his teeth.

"Ziva!"

"Sorry Gibbs. There is a manager upstairs, doing the books. She will take you to him if you will tip her twenty dollars."

"Do you think you could explain to her the concept of obstruction of justice and prison?"

"Gibbs, give her the money," Ziva said sounding almost angry. "We are wasting time."

Gibbs grimaced and dug in his wallet. He handed over the cash and the girl smiled. She beckoned them inside and he followed. They went through a series of open rooms with speakers and sound equipment and basically everything besides a disco ball. Finally, they reached a back hallway and went up a set of dingy stairs into another hallway. She took them to a door, mimed knocking and made herself scarce.

Gibbs knocked and a voice inside the room muttered something in the same language the girl had spoken. It sounded profane. Then the door was jerked open. The man, a stooped fellow with thinning dark hair and a habitually sour expression, glared at them. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Pulling out his badge holder, Gibbs flipped it to show his badge and his ID. "I'm Special Agent Gibbs and this is Special Agent McGee, NCIS. We have a few questions. You are?"

"Andrej Branislav," the man said. "I am the manager. How did you get in?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Were you here last night?" he asked.

"I am here every night," the man replied. "I said I am the manager. Come in." He ushered them into a room that had a table, four chairs and a computer. "Sit."

Gibbs looked at McGee who produced the picture of DiNozzo that they'd provided themselves with. "Did you see this man here last night?"

"Do you know how many people come here?" Branislav asked, barely glancing at the photograph. "I don't know."

"Please look carefully," McGee said, still holding the photo out.

Grudgingly, Branislav took it and squinted at it. "This man, I have seen him a few times. I believe he comes here often, but I do not know if he was here last night."

"When does your staff show up for work?" Gibbs asked.

"At eight," Branislav said. "We open at nine."

"I'll need the names, numbers and addresses of all the people on duty last night," Gibbs said.

Branislav scowled, but he gave him the information he asked for, and they left.

When they got to the car, Gibbs let McGee take the wheel and he dialed Fornell's number. He'd wanted to give Tony's father the opportunity to call the authorities himself, but he suspected Tony's father had remained stubbornly convinced that his son was playing a joke on him, if for no other reason than the fact that he hadn't heard from Fornell himself yet. He was now past letting the senior DiNozzo take the lead. The phone rang, and then Fornell picked up. "FBI."

"Fornell, I need to know if the FBI has heard from Anthony Leonard DiNozzo of Long Island, New York."

There was a pause, then Fornell said, "I'm not the secretary for the whole of the FBI, Gibbs. What's this about?"

"If he'd called, you'd know," Gibbs replied. "Damn that stupid, arrogant son of a bitch." Gibbs was aware of McGee giving him an alarmed look out of the corner of his eye.

"Is he any relation to your DiNozzo?" Fornell asked, unfazed by Gibbs' show of temper.

"His father. He received a ransom demand for Tony this morning and called the office to yell at him for the practical joke."

"Are you sure it's not a practical joke?" Fornell asked. Gibbs didn't say anything, and after a moment Fornell sighed. "Sorry. Of course you are."

"Since Tony's father doesn't seem to be interested, I am now officially reporting the abduction of a federal agent."

"There goes my hope for a quiet day," Fornell said. "Shall I meet you at your office?"

"I'm heading back there now."

"What happened?"

"I don't have any idea, but his gun was found in a trash can in Georgetown near a club that he apparently frequents."

"Ziz?" Fornell asked.

"Yeah. How do you know?"

"We took his life apart a month or so ago, remember?"

"Right," Gibbs said. "Ironically enough, that may actually make this easier."

"Yeah, we've already done a good piece of the legwork."

"Twenty minutes?"

"Twenty minutes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to me, so you're getting an early update! (12/26)

Abby walked into her lab feeling like a zombie. Or at least a partial zombie. Only part of her felt dead, so she couldn't be a whole zombie. Her left cheek wasn't sagging, she'd checked in the mirror, but it felt like it was sagging. It also felt swollen, which it wasn't. Dentists sucked.

She walked over to the refrigerators and put her lunch inside, then continued into her office. Dumping her stuff, she sat down at her desk.

Glancing quickly through her e-mails, she saw one from the evidence garage that was marked urgent. She scanned it and saw that Tony had apparently requested that a bag of garbage with a gun and a wallet in it be sent over. She hated coming in late. It had already been an hour since that e-mail had been sent, and she prided herself on getting things done post haste. Especially for Tony. Unless Gibbs got there first. Gibbs definitely had priority.

She went down to the evidence locker and grabbed the evidence. As Michael signed her out, he gave her a sympathetic look and said, "Sorry, Abby, I know how this kind of thing upsets you."

She blinked at him and shrugged. "It was just a dentist's appointment, Mikey. I can handle it," she said. He gaped at her, and she wondered what his problem was. Maybe a phobia of dentists? She should get Tony to give him that hypnotist's number. He'd sure helped Kate. Upstairs she turned on her music, fired up her machines and started laying the garbage out on her tables. It was a mixed bag. Cigarette packages, apple cores, newspapers and soda cans that should have been recycled, goo that was not immediately identifiable. It was all pretty standard garbage. She turned to the gun and the wallet which had been packaged separately. Opening the box that held the wallet, she blinked at it. There was something wrong with this picture. She'd seen this wallet before, more than once, in bars and at delis during lunch. She flipped it open and stared at the smirking face on the ID. If this was a joke, it wasn't funny.

Stripping off her gloves, she went back to her computer and reread the e-mail. In her haste earlier, she'd misread it; now she stared in shock for several seconds. Metro PD had sent over Anthony DiNozzo's gun and wallet, not a gun and wallet at Anthony DiNozzo's request. She grabbed her phone and dialed with sharp jabs of her finger. The ringing in her ear was echoed by a ringing from the next room and she looked up to see that Gibbs had entered the lab.

"Gibbs!" she exclaimed, and she hurried out. "What's going on? Why do I have Tony's gun and wallet as evidence? Where's Tony?"

"Missing," Gibbs said.

"Missing how?" Abby asked. "Missing when? I don't understand."

Gibbs handed her a Caf-Pow and said, "He seems to have been kidnapped for ransom."

"Is there a note?"

"Not yet, just a phone call."

"Do we have a recording?"

"They didn't call here, Abby, they called his father."

Abby's jaw set. Everything she'd ever heard about Tony's father made her despise the man for throwing away a perfectly good Tony. "So, no recording and no help, I'm guessing."

"Not so far. Do you have anything?"

"Not yet, but I'll get right on it." She set to work feverishly.

* * *

Gibbs left Abby working intently on what little evidence they had and went back upstairs. He looked over at Ziva who was still on the phone. While waiting, he turned to McGee. "Start a trace on DiNozzo's cell phone," he said.

"Already done. It must be off because I'm not getting anything."

"Let me know if anything comes of it," Gibbs ordered. "And start going over Tony's computer, see if there's any kind of clue to what's happening on there." McGee nodded and got up to go to Tony's desk just as Ziva got off the phone. Gibbs turned to her. "You didn't tell Abby when she came in?"

"I did not know she was here," Ziva replied, looking startled.

"Well, she found out because she got Tony's wallet and gun as evidence." Ziva's eyes widened in dismay. "Exactly." The elevator doors opened to admit Fornell and Sacks onto their floor. Gibbs watched them approach with a neutral expression. Neither McGee nor Ziva was able to manage the feat, both gazed at the younger FBI agent through narrowed eyes. They all knew Tony would be less than thrilled to know that Sacks was on this case.

Fornell walked up to Gibbs and said, "New York FBI reports that the elder DiNozzo's house appears to be deserted. The neighbors say that Mr. DiNozzo and wife number six left hurriedly about twenty minutes before my guys got there."

"But didn't know where they were going?" Gibbs predicted.

"Not a clue," Fornell said.

"Do you think they decided to pay the ransom without consulting law enforcement?" McGee asked, looking up from DiNozzo's computer.

"I wish I could believe that," Gibbs said.

McGee's computer chimed, and he hurried over to it. "Someone's using Tony's cell phone," he said.

"Where?"

"It looks like somewhere in Glover Archibald Park," McGee replied. "I should have the GPS coordinates in . . . got it."

"Can you track it if it moves?"

McGee did something arcane with his multitude of devices, pulled something off its charger and said, "Yeah Boss."

"Gear up and let's go!" Gibbs said. Ziva geared up too, and since that was what he'd intended, he said nothing. Fornell and Sacks joined them in the elevator, and Gibbs didn't say anything to that either. If they could keep up, they could come.

He drove, which had Ziva muttering about what the others thought of her driving, and McGee clutching at the ceiling handles in the back seat. Fornell kept up somehow, though Sacks looked a little green when he got out of the passenger side.

They followed McGee through the park. Fornell seemed impatient, but Sacks seemed to get the technology in a way older agents never would. Finally they were close enough to surround the target. Gibbs sincerely doubted that the mixed ring of federal agents closing in on the phone's user were in fact going to capture one of the actual kidnappers. It was far more likely that the phone had been dumped as the wallet and gun had been, and just hadn't been found by a civic-minded citizen. Still, any information was more than they'd had before.

McGee nodded and gestured silently towards a copse of trees that was fairly large. They drew closer and closer, then Gibbs and Fornell burst from cover. "Freeze, federal agents!"

There was a small clearing in the middle of the copse and the two people who were entwined together froze, staring at the men who had intruded on them. Gibbs glowered at the couple. The snort Fornell let out did not improve his mood. "Get your asses up!" Gibbs growled. He could see Tony's phone sitting out on a pile of pink clothing. Pulling on a rubber glove, he grabbed the phone before one of them could. "Get some clothes on, now!"

The two shook out their clothes and the girl said, "That's my phone."

"Where did you get it?"

"I bought it!"

"From whom?"

"None of your business!"

Gibbs clenched his teeth. "McGee, Ziva, take them in," he snarled and stomped out. "And bag this," he added, holding the phone out to McGee who fumbled a bag into place so that he could drop it in. He walked a few feet away and glared out across the park.

His phone rang and he picked it up. "Gibbs."

"How do I get to you?" demanded the elder DiNozzo.

Gibbs blinked. "Where are you?"

"Dulles."

With an extreme effort, Gibbs kept his voice level. "Did it ever occur to you that they would be calling your home?"

"They didn't call the last time. They sent it by messenger service."

"To your home?" Gibbs asked, pointedly. How could so stupid a man have produced Tony?

The senior DiNozzo was silent a moment, then he cleared his throat. "Well, we're at Dulles now. How do I get to you?"

"Tell the cab to take you to the Navy Yards. I'll call ahead and they'll let you in."

"Fine." And he hung up before Gibbs could ask what they'd sent. It had to be something serious to get Leonard DiNozzo out of New York when neither awards nor his son's near-fatal illness had achieved the feat.

"What's up?" Fornell asked, appearing behind him. Their subordinates between them were managing the pair of young lovers.

"I know where Tony's father was going," Gibbs said.

"Where?"

"Here. He just called asking how to get to NCIS headquarters."

"You're kidding!" Fornell stared at him and Gibbs gave him a disgusted look. "Okay, of course you're not kidding, but that's insane. He left the place where the kidnappers were contacting him to come here? Doesn't he know anything?"

"According to Tony, he knows a thing or two about offshore corporations," Gibbs replied. "Let's move."

"Why'd he come?"

"He got something, from the kidnappers presumably. I don't know what, but if it got that man off his –" Gibbs broke off and calmed himself. "I want to know what it is."

Fornell gave him a curious look, but he didn't say anything else all the way back to the cars. Gibbs fully expected Fornell to raise a stink about who got to question the couple and where, but he must have been as eager to get hold of DiNozzo's father as Gibbs was, because he split them up and sent the girl, Misty Rogers, with the NCIS group. She rode in the back with Ziva, her hands cuffed in front of her, tears streaming down her face in an unsuccessful bid for sympathy. None of them spoke for quite a while, and it seemed to grate on the girl. "I didn't do anything wrong," she said finally, glaring at Gibbs, who glanced up at the rearview mirror to see.

"Possession of stolen property is a crime, Misty," Ziva said.

"I don't have anything that was stolen," she said defensively. Silently, McGee held up the cell phone in its evidence bag. "That wasn't stolen. That was a gift, from Frankie."

"You said you bought it," Ziva pointed out.

"I . . . I just meant that someone bought it," Misty replied. "If it's stolen, it's got nothing to do with me."

"You had it, so it's got something to do with you," Gibbs said mildly.

"Whose is it, anyway?" The girl's voice had a shrill, irritating tone. "I mean, five cops don't usually bust in on people like that over a stolen cell phone."

"When it belongs to a missing federal agent, they do," Gibbs replied.

She blinked. "Frankie promised me a nice phone weeks ago, and he finally gave it to me this morning. I'm going to kill him!"

"How old are you?" Gibbs asked, exasperated.

"Sixteen!" she declared defiantly. He stared at her via the rearview mirror, and a moment later she grimaced. "Fourteen."

"Does Frankie have a last name?"

"Parsons," she said, full of righteous indignation. "His number is (240) 555-3719, and he lives at 15412 Goldenoak."

"McGee, get –"

"I'll have him picked up. On it, Boss."

"Misty, tell Ziva how to contact your mother," Gibbs said. She started to object, glaring at him in the mirror, but he just raised an eyebrow. By the time they reached the Navy Yards, McGee had the local police picking up Frankie Parsons, and Misty's mother was already waiting. He let McGee handle the angry mother, sent Ziva down to check on Abby, and went with Fornell to the conference room where Mr. and Mrs. DiNozzo waited.

In all the years he had worked with DiNozzo, Gibbs hadn't seen so much as wallet shot of either of the younger man's parents, so he had no idea what Tony's father looked like until he walked into the conference room. The man had his back to the door when Gibbs opened it. He turned at the sound of the latch and Gibbs found himself presented with a fair approximation of what Tony might look like in twenty years and forty pounds. Mrs. DiNozzo was sitting calmly in a chair

"Which one of you is Special Agent Gibbs?" he demanded.

"I am," Gibbs replied, and Tony's father gave him a measuring look.

"What kind of federal agent can't keep track of his underlings?"

Gibbs felt his temper surge and he just turned to Fornell. "Tobias?" The FBI agent nodded, and Gibbs walked out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Fornell waited for the door to close, then turned to face the DiNozzos. Mrs. DiNozzo was on her feet now, beside her husband, talking quietly to him. "Leonard, calm down, it's not his fault. You remember that seminar. Determined kidnappers are difficult to stop, and he didn't have much warning."

"Warning?" Fornell repeated, wondering if Gibbs knew about this.

DiNozzo blinked and looked up at his wife. "He didn't have any warning, Joyce," he said, and her eyes widened.

"You said you were going to call him." Her voice was calm, but her eyes glittered with fury. Fornell wondered what it meant. She could be angry that her husband hadn't called because it had endangered Tony, or she could be angry that he hadn't called for . . . less savory reasons.

DiNozzo shook his head irritably. "We get a dozen of those things a year. I meant to call him, but I didn't get around to it. He's a federal agent. He should know how to protect himself."

Fornell cleared his throat and they both turned to him. "So, I take it you had threats?"

"Yeah," DiNozzo said. "An acquaintance told me he'd heard some rumblings."

"I can't believe you didn't call him," Joyce said sotto voce, and her husband glared at her. "He's your son!"

"Did you report it?" Fornell asked, trying to keep the proceedings on track. Mrs. DiNozzo nodded and composed herself.

"Sure," DiNozzo replied. "The FBI were looking into it."

Fornell filed that away for future reference. If there was some danger of an NCIS agent on his patch being attacked on account of his father, he should have heard about it, by God. "If you knew kidnapping was a possibility, then why did you think it was a joke?" he asked, still a little incredulous that the man had disregarded his son's danger for so long.

DiNozzo shrugged. "It sounded like one of his friends from college, a football player."

Fornell's eyebrows went up. "Do you remember the guy's name?" he asked.

"Ted. Tom. Something like that." DiNozzo shrugged again. "What does it matter? It obviously wasn't him if this is for real, and it is for real."

"It could be important," Fornell said. It was good that years of experience in dealing with stupid people had taught him to remain calm, otherwise he might strangle this guy, and he didn't even really like the younger DiNozzo. Gibbs might have shot the bastard by now. "So if you remember the name, let me know."

"Fine," DiNozzo muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Leonard, give him the disk," Joyce said.

DiNozzo nodded, then reached into his briefcase and pulled out a disk that was in a plastic sleeve. "I got another demand, that's why I came down here. This one was a DVD." Fornell pulled out a pair of gloves and took the disk, wondering if there was any point now in checking for prints. "I just realized, no one introduced you," DiNozzo said suddenly. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Special Agent Tobias Fornell, FBI. Agent Gibbs called me in."

"I'm Anthony Leonard DiNozzo II, and this is my wife, Joyce." Joyce gave him a weak smile. "Do you know my son?"

Fornell nodded. "I've worked with him before, and I was part of clearing him when he was accused of murder last month."

DiNozzo stared at him, and Joyce looked up with round eyes. "When he was what?" she said.

Fornell blinked at them. "You didn't know about that?" he asked.

"No one ever tells me anything!" DiNozzo thundered. "My own son, accused of murder, and does he bother to tell me?"

"Leonard –"

"No, he just carries on . . . was he arrested?"

"Yes, but we cleared him pretty quickly. He was –"

"I told him!" DiNozzo growled. "I told him time and time again what he was letting himself in for. That boy doesn't know what's good for him." He met Fornell's eyes as if inviting him to sympathize. "I offered him a good job with the company, everything most boys would want, and he just had to go slumming."

Joyce stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Leonard, not now!" she said firmly, and her husband clenched his jaw tightly, but he did shut up. She turned to Fornell with a worried grimace. "I'm sorry, we really didn't know. What happened?"

"He was framed by someone who made an error that DiNozzo . . . that Tony caught a few years back. Apparently the man lost his job and he blamed Tony for it."

"And my son was in prison?" DiNozzo demanded angrily, but the rest of his remarks made it clear that he wasn't upset that his son had been wrongfully imprisoned. "A member of my family, locked up, that's just great. His grandfather must be spinning in his grave."

"Don't be an idiot, Leonard," Joyce said. "How long did it take? I wish he'd called, I would have come down." She paused, shook her head, and said, "This is all beside the point in any case." Her husband spluttered, but she ignored him. "Agent Fornell, what news do you have on the investigation? Have you got any leads?"

"We're working on it, ma'am."

At the same time as Fornell spoke, DiNozzo began muttering. "He brought shame on the family name. My son . . ."

Joyce glanced over at her husband and took Fornell aside. "Give me a few minutes alone with him. I'll get him calmed down and . . ."

"I'll check on you in a half hour?" Fornell suggested.

"Perfect," she said. "If there's anything I can do to help you find Tony, please, let me know. Leonard is . . . he's not always rational where Tony's concerned. I really don't understand it, but family can be like that."

"Of course," Fornell said, and he left the room, utterly appalled. He headed down the stairs to Gibbs' area. Ziva was working diligently at her desk while Sacks and McGee discussed DiNozzo's computer in civil terms. Ignoring them, he went straight for Gibbs, who was hanging up the phone as he approached.

"Well?" Gibbs said, looking up.

"That is the weirdest damned family I have ever run into," Fornell said. "The stepmother seems to care more about DiNozzo than his own father does, and apparently they don't talk very often."

"That was my impression," Gibbs said, and though he didn't articulate the question, the slight raising of his eyebrows asked it just as clearly.

"They didn't know he'd been arrested for murder," Fornell said. That seemed to startle Gibbs, which was a rarity. Fornell could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that man had shown surprise in his presence.

"They did not know?" Ziva exclaimed. "But surely Tony would have told them."

"Not if he expected his father's reaction to the news, he wouldn't," Fornell said darkly, and Gibbs' eyebrows went even higher, but Fornell wasn't going into detail about that in public. "In any case, I left them up there to calm down, but I brought this with me." He held out the DVD between his gloved fingers. "It's the latest communication from the kidnappers. I couldn't watch it up there because I don't know where you keep your AV equipment."

"Here," McGee said instantly, and, slipping on a pair of gloves, he took the disk from Fornell and put it into his computer. A couple of clicks and the image was on the plasma screen between his desk and DiNozzo's. Fornell had to confess to some jealousy with regard to the level of tech in this office. He didn't always understand it, but it could be cool.

The DVD started on a black screen. White letters began to appear, spelling out the demands in the simplest possible form.

Ransom: 15 million dollars  
Deadline: Thursday at noon, Eastern time

Those letters remained on the screen for maybe fifteen seconds, then faded. Letters began to appear then to spell out a new message.

To verify that we do indeed have  
your son  
and offer incentive to increase  
your efforts,  
we provide this meager demonstration.

Again, the words stayed for about ten seconds and then faded. Perhaps five seconds later, the black screen was replaced by an image of DiNozzo straight on, stripped to the waist and barefoot, his hands cuffed through a stair railing above his head. Fornell leaned closer. It looked like there might be some kind of mark on DiNozzo's chest, but for all he knew the man had a birthmark. Otherwise, he seemed entirely untouched. Clearly that was about to change. DiNozzo was looking away from the camera, his expression shuttered, and his body was taut as a bowstring.

Another figure moved into the frame. Male, all in black, wearing gloves and a ski mask. They weren't getting any details off this guy beyond build and height. The camera moved to the left so that the masked man's body didn't block his actions as he threw a punch to DiNozzo's ribcage. Unable to defend himself or dodge, DiNozzo grunted, swaying sideways. Fornell glanced over at Gibbs, who had come around his desk and was watching. His expression gave no hint as to what he was feeling, but his eyes burned with anger.

A voice came from the screen, drawing Fornell's attention back. To his surprise, it wasn't one of the kidnappers speaking, it was DiNozzo himself.

"You know," he said, then he grunted again when his attacker struck him another blow. "If this was a movie –" Grunt. "I'd get out of this –" Grunt. "With nothing more than –" Grunt. "An artistic wound –" Grunt. "At the corner of my mouth." Red marks and bruises were appearing on DiNozzo's torso, and Fornell shook his head at the man's antics. The next punch was to DiNozzo's gut, and it deprived him of breath for several seconds. Mercifully. What kind of an idiot was DiNozzo, provoking them like that?

"He is methodical," Ziva observed calmly. "He knows what he is doing."

Fornell turned towards her, a little shocked by her clinical tone and her calm attention to the screen. McGee shifted uneasily, not looking at her, and Fornell could see Sacks' eyes widening. A sidelong glance at Gibbs told him that he, at least, was unsurprised and undismayed by Ziva's attitude.

Incredibly, DiNozzo began to speak again. "And Danny Glover would be coming down the stairs right now with a gun." Fornell suppressed a grin. True as it was, it wasn't the smartest thing to say to people who had you handcuffed to a staircase.

Two final punches to the head silenced him, and he sagged unconscious, blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth. The screen went black again and new letters came up.

Instructions will be sent in two days.  
If they are not followed to the letter,  
Anthony Leonard DiNozzo III will suffer  
a painful and humiliating death.

The screen flashed on an image of DiNozzo's face, bruised, bleeding and insensible, then it went blank again.

"Oh God!" Fornell recognized the voice and turned to see that Gibbs' pet forensic tech was staring at the screen. She'd evidently dropped one of her caffeine laden beverages onto another agent's desk, because the man was standing up and swinging his hands as though to rid himself of liquid. Sizzling and snapping sounds also issued from that direction, as well as a slight smell of ozone. Interestingly, he didn't begin cursing the girl. Apparently she wasn't just Gibbs' pet. She was moving forward, her eyes fixed on the screen in shock. "Was that . . . what . . . Tony?"

"Abby," Gibbs said. He walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. "We're going to find him, and he's going to be fine."

Her eyes were still on the screen. "But he . . ."

Gibbs gave her a slight shake and she looked up at him. "He will be fine, Abby. I need you to take a look at that disk. Check for fingerprints and anything that might help you identify the computer it was made on."

"Right," Abby said. "Of course." She turned and McGee had the disk ready for her, inside the plastic sleeve, in an evidence bag. She took it and went towards the elevator.

"I didn't see anything to help us identify the location," McGee said. "Anyone else?"

"I did not," Ziva said, "however, that man knows a great deal about how to hit someone without doing serious damage. That cannot be all that common a skill."

"So we look for enforcers," Sacks said. "Any chance this could be related to the Mob? They are Italian and from New York."

"It's always a possibility," Fornell replied.

"But don't lock yourself into anything," Gibbs said. "Keep an open mind."

"Boss, we've got to consider the possibility that they moved him up north," McGee said.

"Yeah McGee?" Gibbs gave McGee a blank look, waiting for an explanation.

"Well, the kidnappers were in contact with the DiNozzos in Long Island, and they can't have expected them to come down to Washington, so they'll probably be planning the exchange somewhere in New York or New Jersey."

"Start by figuring out where he was taken from."

"Right Boss."


	5. Chapter 5

Tony blinked. His rib ached, his shoulders hurt and he had a terrible pain in his wrists. He must have been knocked out. He was still handcuffed to the stairwell, so he couldn't have been out long. Long enough for them to stop taping, though, because Lola had his pants halfway down his legs and Butch had taken off his mask and his gloves. Tony got his feet under him again and shook his head.

"You're back with us, I see," Peter said as Tony drew in a deep breath. No sharp pains, so with any luck, Butch hadn't broken any of his ribs. Yet.

"Lift your feet," Lola said, and Tony glared down at her. When he didn't immediately do as she asked, she gave him a dimpled smile. "It's not going to do you any good to resist, Tony, and you don't really want any more bruises, do you?"

He lifted his feet and she slipped the pants out from under him and took them away. He didn't see the camera, so he assumed she had it stowed away in one of her capacious pockets. Butch came forward and undid one of the cuffs, letting Tony's arms down. As soon as his left arm was free, Tony punched Butch in the jaw. The big man stumbled backwards, and Tony thought it had to be from surprise because the punch was pathetic. Clenching his fists, Butch started towards him, but Peter put a hand on his shoulder and the big man stopped.

"You can't blame him for getting a little of his own back, now can you?" he asked, giving Tony a pleasant smile. "Now, Tony, you need to let Butch cuff you again and go back into your room."

Remembering the magnum Peter had tucked in his shoulder holster, Tony obeyed. They left him in the radiator room, which had lost a lot of heat from the door being open so long. He brought his hands up and gingerly examined his face. His lip was swelling slightly, and he had a small split at the corner of his mouth. The door opened again, Tony stiffened, not sure what to expect now. Surely they'd done enough to him for the moment. He grimaced. Maybe the video camera lens cap was on and they had to do it all over from scratch.

Peter walked in holding a terrycloth bundle. Butch stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and Tony wondered what was coming now. "Relax, Tony, I just brought you an ice pack. We don't want that lip swelling up too big."

Tony blinked at him. "I don't get it," he said.

"Whatever do you mean?" Peter asked, holding out the icepack.

"We both know you're going to kill me in the end," Tony said, not taking it. "Why bother with the ice?"

Peter shrugged, and by not leaping to protest his intention of killing Tony, he as good as confirmed it. "The end may be further off than you think, Tony," Peter said, and Tony wondered what that meant. Peter held out the icepack. "Take the ice, Tony. There's no point in refusing, is there?"

"I guess not," Tony said with a shrug, and he took the icepack. He needed to get back into the swing of charming this guy. People didn't kill those they liked as readily as those they didn't. "Thanks," he added, pressing the ice to his face. He floundered for something else to say. The naked thing was definitely throwing him off. He kept wondering if they were looking places they shouldn't, and he desperately wanted to cover himself. For one thing, the open door was letting the cold air in. Late October was not a time to be naked in a basement.

Okay, without a girl, a sufficient quantity of wine, a few blankets and some pleasant tunes, no time was good to be naked in a basement.

And what did you say to a man when you knew he was planning to kill you? Besides "don't."

"It's no problem, Tony," Peter said. "We want to keep you looking your best, after all. We'll save really bloody face shots for later efforts at persuasion, assuming they're needed."

"I'm all for skipping that altogether," Tony said.

Peter laughed. "Well, what cannot be cured must be endured," he said, and Tony shook his head.

"I'd rather not, thanks."

Peter laughed again and then he left Tony alone in the little room. Tony sat down on the mattress and contemplated what he was going to do. First he needed to get them to let him out of these cuffs. He lay back and let the icepack rest on his face so he could rest his arms. There were deep indentations in his skin where he had hung, however briefly, from the handcuffs. He had a feeling that his ribs would be a solid mass of bruising before long, at least on the front. What would Gibbs do if their situations were reversed?

That was easy. He'd start off by not getting caught, though Tony wasn't sure how he could have avoided that ambush. He'd been walking back to his car from Ziz when he heard a woman scream down an alley. He took off running that way, pulling his gun. There had been two women and a man, and the man appeared to be molesting one of the woman. From what he knew now, Tony thought the man might have been Butch, and the woman standing nearby and shrieking her head off was Lola. Tony had stopped level with the shrieking woman and ordered the thug to freeze.

Instead, the man had thrown the woman he was attacking to the ground and turned towards Tony. The threat from him blinded Tony to any possibility of a threat from the woman he still regarded as a victim, and Lola had caught him completely off guard with her little pink stun gun. Things had gotten rather confused after that, and he suspected they had drugged him somehow, but he was a little blurry on that point.

Regardless, assuming that Gibbs had been caught the way Tony had been, what would he do? Tony tossed the icepack aside and began to examine the cellar room. It was not enlightening. There were four concrete walls and a heavy metal door. Locked. He had the mattress, the icepack, a pair of handcuffs and nothing else. And the handcuffs were in the most useful location. He could use them to strangle someone if they got close enough, and they would add heft to a double handed blow to someone's head, assuming he got an opportunity to land such a blow without getting himself shot.

He sat down again. Even in the sewers he'd had a better chance of escape. There he'd at least had his clothing, and therefore his belt buckle, and he'd had access to the outside of his cell door. Here . . . he was going to have to count on his captors giving him an opportunity, and that didn't seem very likely.

What was it that Peter wanted from him? He didn't know anything interesting, wasn't privy to any important secrets. Nevertheless, the more Peter spoke, the more Tony thought there was more to this than a desire for a quick buck. They had let him see their faces because they weren't going to let him go, but that didn't mean they were going to kill him, at least not any time soon.

He shook his head. It didn't make sense . . . unless they thought he knew something that he didn't. In which case, he could be in for a lot of pain and grief. Heaving a big sigh, he flopped down on the mattress.

Gibbs would find him. He just hoped that all his blood was still on the inside when that happened.

* * *

McGee knocked on the door to apartment 2B. After a few moments, a man answered the door. He was tall with dark hair, and he gazed suspiciously at McGee. "We don't got anything to say to any cops," he said, and he started to close the door.

A little tired of the attitude which he'd gotten at two of the four other apartments he'd visited, McGee stuck his foot in the door and pushed. "Good," he said. "Because I'm not a cop. I'm a federal agent."

"FBI?" the man asked mockingly, but he backed up and let McGee in.

"NCIS," McGee said, flashing his badge and his ID the way he'd learned from Gibbs. "Special Agent McGee, and I'm looking for Marla Thomas."

"She's asleep," the man said. "I'm her husband. What do you want?"

"I have some questions about a patron at the club she works at, Ziz, and it's urgent. Can you please wake her up for me?"

The man shook his head. "I don't think so," he said, turning away.

McGee caught his arm and gave him an insincere smile. "Wake her up. I was being polite, now I'm not." The guy glared at him. "If you make me go and get a warrant, we will come back here and tear this place apart looking for any evidence that you and your wife might be involved in the disappearance of a federal agent."

"Fine, whatever." He walked into the next room, and McGee listened carefully in case his improvised threat turned out to have a basis in fact. However, all he heard was a sleepy female voice and an irritable male one, and a few minutes later, a woman in her mid-thirties emerged from the bedroom wearing pajamas and a robe over the top of them.

"Can I see your ID?" she asked.

"Special Agent McGee, ma'am," he said, showing her his ID. "I just have a couple of questions."

"If I can help you, I will."

McGee pulled out the picture of Tony they'd pulled from the NCIS files. "Was this man at Ziz last night?"

Marla took the picture with a smile. "Oh yeah, he was there. He's a good tipper."

"You're sure he was there last night?" McGee asked.

"Sure, I'm sure," she said. "Is he in trouble for something?"

"Did he leave with anyone?" McGee asked.

She shook her head. "He mingled for a while, danced, had a few drinks, but he left alone."

"About what time?"

"Ten thirty, maybe quarter till eleven. Early for him. I figured he had to be in early to work."

"Did anyone seem unduly interested in him?"

"Not unduly, no," she said with a puzzled look. "Did something happen to him?"

"We're not sure yet. Thank you, you've been really helpful." He turned to go, but she called him back.

"Wait, I know you!" she said, and McGee turned back. "You're a friend of his . . . what did he call you?"

"Probie," McGee said.

"No, it was . . . McGeek."

"Oh yeah, that one," McGee said.

"What's probie mean?" she asked.

"I'm an NCIS agent," McGee replied and she nodded. "And he's the senior field agent on our team. He's called me that since I was a probationary field agent."

"Ahhh, I see."

He took his leave and called Gibbs. "Boss, I've got something. He left Ziz last night between 2230 and 2245."

"Good work, McGee. Keep at it."

"But we know –"

"Someone else may have seen something different, McGee. Keep going."

"Yes Boss," McGee said, but he heard Gibbs hang up before he finished speaking. He closed his own phone and drove on to the next address on his list.

This door was answered by a girl of about eight who took one look at him and yelled, "Mom! A cop's here."

McGee really didn't think he looked that much like a cop, but the little girl's mother came to the door and that was what mattered. "Are you Leann Roberts?" he asked.

"I am, and you are?"

"Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS, ma'am. I have a few questions about someone who was a the club last night."

"Come in, then," she said. "I'm washing dishes." He followed her into the kitchen, and to his surprise, she continued washing dishes. "Go ahead, ask your questions."

"Did you see this man in the club last night?" he asked, holding out the photo of Tony.

She smiled. "Yeah, he was there. What's he done?"

"Nothing, ma'am, I just need to follow his movements last night. Do you know when he left the club?"

"Not really, I got pretty busy around ten-thirty, and I didn't see him after that."

"Did anyone seem to be paying him undue attention?"

"I don't know what you mean by undue, but he did run into a friend. It was kind of weird, actually."

McGee's attention sharpened. "Weird? In what sense?"

She paused in the her dishwashing, turning around and grabbing the towel off her shoulder to keep her hands from dripping. "Well, Tony doesn't come all that often, maybe three or four times a month, but he's memorable. Fun to watch, fun to talk to, a good tipper, right?"

McGee rolled his eyes. "I work with him. I know."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? He's a cop?"

"A federal agent," McGee said.

"Interesting. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, he came in with a guy from his old fraternity. I heard them talking, and I remembered because three days later, that guy showed up again, just sat at a table half the night, drinking just enough to keep the table."

"Okay . . ."

"Well, that guy has come every night since then, doing the same thing. I figure he's got to be bribing the bouncer, because there's nothing special about him. Anyway, I was maybe three feet behind him with another customer when Tony came in. He sat up straight and got up, beckoning towards Tony. He made out like it was a chance meeting, but I swear, that was the first person the guy talked to in almost two weeks of hanging out. I think he was waiting for him."

"And this was last night?"

She nodded. "Tony in any trouble?"

McGee grimaced. "I can't really say. Did you catch the guy's name? How did he pay?"

"Cash every time I was his cashier," she said. "And Tony called him Tommy."

"How long did they spend talking?"

"Half hour or so, then the other guy had to leave."

"Did you notice about what time that was?"

"Just after my break, so it had to be around nine-thirty."

"And did you hear anything they talked about?"

"Not really. Just a bunch of stuff about the fraternity, but beyond that, I was too busy to pay any attention."

"I understand. Thank you, you've been a big help."

"Anytime. Can you find your own way out? I've got a lot to be doing."

"Sure." McGee left. None of his other interviews led anywhere new, so he headed back to NCIS headquarters where he found Gibbs and Fornell in the midst of a battle over who got to keep the evidence.

"NCIS doesn't have jurisdiction here, Gibbs," Fornell said.

"Like hell we don't," Gibbs replied.

"I have something," McGee said. Both men turned towards him, and he took a step back at the sight of the emotion in their eyes. "I don't know if it means anything, but it could."

"What is it, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Tony ran into an old friend from college last night, a frat brother, I guess."

"Name?"

"The waitress said she thought it was Tommy."

"Tommy?" Fornell said, suddenly looking arrested.

"What is it?" Gibbs demanded.

"The reason DiNozzo senior gave for his assumption that it was all a joke was that the guy who called sounded like one of Tony's friends, either Tom or Ted."

"It isn't the first time they've run into each other at Ziz," McGee said. Both senior agents gazed intently at him, and he passed on the information he'd learned from Leann Roberts.

"That is something," Gibbs said. He turned towards Tony's desk and barked, "DiNozzo!" McGee blinked. It was such an instinctive reaction that Gibbs probably hadn't thought twice, but he froze and so did everyone else within hearing, especially Sacks, who was sitting at Tony's desk. "McGee?" Gibbs said in a tightly controlled voice.

"Yeah, Boss?" McGee said with a sideways glance at Ziva who looked just as alarmed as he felt.

"Find out who that frat brother is, everything about him, including his current address."

"Right." McGee headed towards his desk, then paused. "We will find him, Boss."

"Yes, we will McGee. If you get to work!"

McGee nodded. "On it, Boss!" he said and hurriedly sat down.

"He was a football player, McGee," Fornell said. "That's what Tony's father said."

Nodding to show that he'd heard, McGee started calling up the vital statistics of Alpha Chi Delta, searching for lists of members at Ohio State in the early nineties. It didn't take long, and he found a couple of guys' MySpace pages that had photos and class lists. Tony hadn't changed much. He found one that showed a football team, but it didn't list the people in the picture. He wished he'd had it with him earlier in the day to show Leann Roberts. He kept looking and finally he found two Thomases that were members of Alpha Chi Delta at the same time, Thomas Goodson and Thomas Alkire. Cross referencing, he discovered that Thomas Alkire was on the football team with Tony, and he found a photo which he popped up on the plasma.

"Has Mr. DiNozzo ever met –" he started to say, but a loud voice interrupted him.

"Why that's . . . what's going on here?" someone shouted in a vaguely familiar voice. McGee turned to see a man staring at the screen. He looked a lot like Tony, and his eyes were wide with what looked like anger. "I thought you were looking into my son's disappearance, not investigating his old college friends! What kind of a rinky-dink operation is this?"

Gibbs walked up to Tony's father. "You recognize the young man?" he asked in a mild tone.

"Yes, he's the one I thought called me with the ransom demand, but I told that Fornell that it couldn't have been him because it's not a joke."

"No, it's not a joke," Gibbs said, and his voice was arctic. "And Tony apparently ran into this man last night. McGee, get me a more recent photo of Mr. Alkire and get to work figuring out where he is now."

"On it, Boss."

Without a backward glance, Gibbs went upstairs to the director's office. McGee kept up his computer searches. Alumni newsletters were a useful tool. Evidently, Thomas Alkire had moved out to California after college. McGee got his photo from the California DMV and sent it to the printer, and got to work tracing his current location. He had a Visa from Chase, a MasterCard from Bank of America and a Discover card. He started the process to gain access to them and turned to check if the photo had printed well.

"Which witness was it, McGee?" Fornell asked with the picture in his hand.

"Leann Roberts," McGee said.

"You stay on Alkire, Sacks and I will go check with her if this is our guy."

McGee nodded and the two FBI agents left. Ziva was still out canvassing the neighborhood around Ziz, so that left him alone with Mr. DiNozzo, who was staring at Alkire's picture with an inscrutable expression.

"Does he bark at you like that all the time?" DiNozzo asked.

"What?" McGee looked up, startled by the question.

"Does he bark at you all the time?" DiNozzo repeated.

"Gibbs?" McGee nodded, still working hard on the credit card access. "Yeah, that's how he is."

"So he barks like that at my son?"

"All the time," McGee said absently. Facts and figures were coming up on his screen.

"I'm not sure I like that."

"I'm sure I don't care," Gibbs said, and Mr. DiNozzo turned with a start. "McGee, you got anything?"

"Looks like he's staying at the Motel 6 on Georgia Avenue. There's a charge on his card for that, through tomorrow, it looks like. And he's paid for dinner a few places locally, and several drinks at Ziz."

"Let's go, McGee."

McGee grabbed his gun and his badge and followed Gibbs to the elevator.


	6. Chapter 6

The door opened again and Tony opened his eyes. He'd been lying on the mattress, trying to relax enough to rest. He sat up sharply and stared at Peter for a moment. "What time is it?"

Peter blinked at him. "The sun is still up, but not for too much longer."

"Is that all the answer I'm going to get?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm afraid so, but I brought you something I think you'll like."

"Keys to the handcuffs and a ticket out of here?"

"Dinner."

Tony sighed. "Not one of my preferred top two, but in the top five."

Peter smiled. "Good. Bring it in, Lola."

She pushed in a cart that looked like it was from a hotel. Peter stepped outside and returned with a pair of folding chairs. Tony got slowly to his feet. The appetizing smells were waking his stomach up with a vengeance, but there was something odd about this. For one thing, the table was set for two.

"Am I having company for dinner?" Tony asked.

"I thought I'd join you," Peter said. "I trust you have no objections?"

Tony wasn't sure what to say. "No . . . not really."

"Good," Peter replied with a smile that weirded Tony out.

Lola brought up the drop leaves on the table, left the room and shut the door behind her, leaving Tony alone with the other man. Peter unfolded the chairs and placed them on either side. "Have a seat."

"Looks pretty cold," Tony said, looking at the metal chair.

"You'll survive," Peter said.

Tony picked up the napkin from his place setting and contemplated it. He could spread it on the seat or he could cover his lap. Of course, the table would cover him fairly effectively. He spread the napkin neatly over the seat and sat down. "The cuffs are going to make eating a little awkward."

"True, but you'll manage. I have great confidence in you, Tony."

"Based on what?" Tony asked, pulling his plate towards him. It smelled like red meat, and he felt like he could do with a little of that right now.

"Based on extensive observation," Peter replied.

"Okay, that's creepy but not altogether unexpected." Tony lifted the cover off his plate. Steak medallions, mixed vegetables and mashed potatoes. Not gourmet fare, but definitely edible. "A spoon?" Tony asked, looking at his silverware. "Only a spoon?"

"Why yes, Tony, did you think I would give you a knife and fork under these circumstances?"

"It would have come in handy," Tony said with a smile.

"I'm sure." Peter stared at him for a moment, an odd look on his face. "You really do have a nice smile, Tony."

Tony had just put a bite of food into his mouth, but this remark caught him very much off guard. He looked up, trying to read the expression on his host's face. It was impenetrably bland. "Thanks," he said once he'd swallowed. "Forgive me if this seems like an odd question, but why are we having dinner together? I mean, you kidnapped me, you're keeping me locked naked in a cellar and holding me for ransom, and now you're joining me for a steak dinner. It just seems odd."

"I like you better than I like my colleagues," Peter said with a shrug.

"Really? Last I checked, we hadn't met."

"But I know a great deal about you, Tony."

"What you thought you knew about my father was wrong," Tony pointed out, then wondered if that had been altogether wise.

"Ah yes, but I paid a great deal more attention to you than to your father," Peter said.

Tony's brows knit in confusion. "Why? I mean, you were kidnapping me to get to him. All you needed to know about me was how to catch me and how to keep me."

"All I needed to know, perhaps. It wasn't all I wanted to know."

"Okay," Tony said, and he applied himself to his food. This was making less and less sense, but he wasn't going to argue with the lunatic. Arguing with lunatics tended to make them angry. "Um . . . so, what's not to like about Lola and Butch?"

Peter shrugged. "They're reasonably good at their jobs, but they don't provide much in the way of stimulating conversation. Lola's too careful, and Butch is just muscle." He picked up a plastic wine glass from the center of the table. "Would you care for some wine?"

"Not so sure how it would mix with the stuff you guys gave me earlier," Tony said, certain that he wanted to keep his wits about him as much as possible.

"I wouldn't offer you anything that would harm you, Tony. Besides, that should mostly have burned off by now."

"I don't suppose you have a Coke or something?" Tony suggested.

Peter did something under the table, Tony couldn't quite tell what, and Lola came in. "Find Tony something non-alcoholic to drink, would you?"

"I told you so," she said, then she left again.

"She told you what?" Tony asked.

"That I wasn't going to be able to convince you to have any wine," Peter said.

"Would you under these circumstances?" Peter smiled but he didn't reply. After a few minutes, Lola came back in with a can of Sprite. "Thanks," Tony said, and she shrugged. The door shut behind her with a clang. "So, is this your usual MO?" he asked.

"Usual?"

"When you kidnap people, do you usually wine and dine them?"

"I don't usually kidnap people," Peter said.

"No?" Tony scooped up a steak medallion and put it in his mouth even as he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He'd been kidnapped by amateurs. This was not good.

"Generally, I steal more portable treasures, but there was something about this particular job that appealed to me."

"Really?" Tony said. "And what was that?"

"You."

Tony's eyes widened and he stared at the other man in shock. Peter didn't seem to think he'd said anything extraordinary, for he just returned to his own dinner. Tony noticed absently that he, too, was eating with a spoon. "You know, the sheriff of Nottingham in the Kevin Costner _Robin Hood_ was going to cut someone's heart out with a spoon."

"Yes, indeed," Peter said, looking up with a grin. "Because it would hurt more. But you wouldn't do that, Tony."

"I wouldn't?"

"No. Too messy." Peter chuckled. "Eat, Tony. The food is getting cold."

Tony returned to his meal, wishing Gibbs would come through the door about now.

* * *

The motel room was empty and clean. Gibbs stared around in disgust. There wasn't a suitcase or so much as a used tissue left behind. Agents Sacks and Fornell had joined them at the motel, which made a lot of people to be standing in a single occupancy hotel room.

"Do you suppose I could get whoever cleaned this room to come to my place?" Sacks said after looking around.

"Boss, this place doesn't even have any fingerprints," McGee said.

"Damn it," Gibbs muttered. "Ziva, these kinds of places always get license plate numbers. Get it, find out whatever else you can from the clerk, and have them let us know if he comes back."

She nodded and went out.

"It's not like he has to check in with the clerk, Gibbs," Fornell said.

Gibbs shrugged. "There's nothing here."

"I'll put someone on surveillance duty," Fornell said. "Beyond that, I think this is a dead end."

"Where does he live, McGee?"

"Anaheim," McGee replied. "That's the address on his credit cards at any rate."

"I can have someone from the Los Angeles office check the place out," Fornell said, and Gibbs nodded as he left the motel room.

McGee paused to pass the address on and followed him. "Boss, what do we do now?"

"You find out who Alkire knew locally."

"Yes Boss."

Ziva was returning from the motel office as they reached the car. "Ziva?" Gibbs asked.

"The license plate belongs to a rental car."

"Did you see a rental car on his credit cards, McGee?"

"Would have mentioned it if I had."

"Ziva, find out who rented that car."

"On it, Gibbs."

He got behind the wheel and they climbed in. It was going on twenty hours since the last time anyone had seen DiNozzo, and that was not good.

* * *

After they'd both finished their food, Peter lingered, drinking his wine and trying to draw Tony out on a number of subjects, from movies to his childhood. Tony, getting more nervous by the moment, tried to keep up his end of the conversation, but he was having more than a little trouble.

Eventually, Peter pressed his little button, or whatever it was, and the door opened to reveal both Lola and Butch. They came in and moved towards the table. Tony stood up and backed away, watching them all anxiously. This situation had been bad enough when he'd understood what was going on, but now he felt totally lost. He didn't like the sensation.

Butch and Lola gathered the chairs and table up and left, and Peter paused at the door. "Tony?" he said, and Tony lifted his eyebrows. "Sleep well."

"Right," Tony said. "Good night."

Peter left and the door shut with a clang. Tony wandered over and tried it again. It was locked. He turned and leaned against it. Admittedly, he could easily believe that Peter didn't find his compatriots' conversation stimulating, but he couldn't believe that he found Tony's stilted nervous babble any more so.

He heard the door unlatch, and he shifted away from it hastily. Peter stepped inside, Butch behind him. He was holding a glass of something dark red. "I'm sorry, Tony, I almost forgot your nightcap."

"No thanks, I'm fine," Tony said, backing up.

"I'm sorry, Tony, I'm going to have to insist."

"What is it?"

"Just some brandy . . . with a mixer."

"I'm not fond of brandy."

"Then tomorrow night I'll take care to put it in whiskey," Peter said. He came closer, holding out the glass. "Drink it, Tony, or will Butch have to hold you down?"

"What is it?" Tony demanded. Peter shrugged, and gave Butch a look. "Wait a minute. Just tell –" Butch started to slam him against the wall, but Tony sidestepped him and shifted away. The door was still open. Maybe there was some chance of using this moment to his advantage. If he could just play cat and mouse long enough . . . and get the drop on Lola . . .

Butch drove at him again, but this time Tony wasn't quite as successful. The other man caught his arm, dragging him off balance. Once he hit the floor, there wasn't much of a chance. Butch pinned him down, one of his knees in Tony's gut.

"This really shouldn't be necessary, Tony," Peter said sorrowfully as he walked over and knelt by Tony's head.

"It really isn't," Tony gasped.

Peter raised the glass over Tony's face, but he clamped his jaw shut. He wasn't sure what Gibbs would tell him to do, but he really didn't want to be unconscious. Not especially with the way that dinner had gone. "Tony, don't be a child. You know I can force you to drink it. In fact, I could just ask Lola to come in here with a hypodermic. Have some dignity and just drink."

Tony stared up at him, darted his eyes to Butch's face. Big and beefy was now sort of puce with irritation. Peter just gazed down at him with an odd sort of sympathy in his eyes. If he could just make sense of what that man wanted . . . but he did know one thing. This was a struggle he was bound to lose. If they wanted him out, they could knock him out. The fact that Peter had essentially admitted that it was more than a glass of booze indicated that he was trying to . . . what? What was he doing? Preserving Tony's dignity? Eroding his sense of control? Destroying his ability to think?

"Tony?"

Tony shut his eyes and let out an explosive sigh. "Fine. Let me up."

Nothing happened for a long moment, then Peter spoke again. "Butch, let him up."

"My name is not Butch!" the big guy growled, and Tony looked up to find him glaring down.

"What, do you want me to give him your full name and address?" The glare shifted focus. "Then Butch it is." Peter's voice took on a sharper tone. "Let him up."

Tony saw a hint of fear in Butch's face for a moment before it turned impassive again. He removed his knee from Tony's gut and backed away. Tony pushed himself to a sitting position against the wall. Peter held out the glass, and he took it, swallowing a bit of acid from his stomach.

"Can I at least have a blanket?" Tony asked.

"Come now, Tony," Peter said. "You know as well as I do that the denial of clothing has a purpose. Providing a blanket would defeat that purpose. Drink up and we'll leave you alone."

Tony looked at the glass, took a deep breath, and downed it in one long gulp.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Tony glared at him. "It tastes vile, thank you."

"You're going to want to get to the mattress quickly," Peter said with a bit of amusement. "With the way you slammed that, it's going to hit you soon."

In fact, Tony could already feel it. He pushed himself up to his knees and tried to stand up. If Peter hadn't steadied him, he'd have fallen. Peter kept an arm around him all the way to the mattress, and Tony didn't have the strength to object. He more or less fell onto the soft surface, and his last awareness was of Peter gazing down at him pensively.


	7. Chapter 7

Gibbs glanced at the clock. 0214 hours. More than twenty-eight hours had passed since the last possible sighting of Tony. The bullpen was tense. Fornell had his people working elsewhere at the moment, Joyce DiNozzo had gone to the head, but Tony's father was jittering around nervously. Gibbs was just thankful he was being quiet.

A cell phone began to ring, and everyone turned to look at Mr. DiNozzo, who drew his phone out of his holster at his hip. Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "I'm too sexy?" he repeated after the song.

"Anthony did it," DiNozzo said irritably. "And I don't know how to change it."

"Who is it?"

"I don't recognize the number."

"Put it on speaker," Gibbs said. He noticed that Joyce had come back into the bullpen, but she remained silent as the call began.

DiNozzo Senior opened the phone and pressed a button. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. DiNozzo," said a male voice.

DiNozzo senior's expression darkened. "Tom, how are you?" he asked with false bonhomie.

"I'm okay. Tony's not doing so great, though."

"You son of a bitch, helping kidnap my son! I ought to –"

"Leonard?" Joyce said in an undertone, and he broke off, face red with anger.

"So, you got the video? You don't think this is a joke anymore?"

"Yes, I got the video, and no, I don't think it's a joke."

"Tony will be glad to hear that, Mr. DiNozzo."

"I want to talk to my son."

"I'm afraid he's a little indisposed at the moment. I'll tell you where he is if you meet me in Dupont Circle in two hours, with the fifteen million dollars."

Gibbs blinked. This fell outside the script. McGee was tracing the call, was making gestures for DiNozzo senior to draw it out, but Gibbs wasn't sure Tony's father was even seeing McGee.

"I can't have that much ready in two hours," DiNozzo said.

"Ten million."

DiNozzo nodded. "Okay, okay, where on Dupont Circle? How will I know you?"

"I'm sure your FBI friends can find a current photo of me," Alkire said.

"Um . . ." DiNozzo looked up at Gibbs who nodded. "Okay. Where did you say?"

There was silence, then a clatter, and they could hear the voice in the distance. "No . . . don't . . ." Then a gunshot rang out, and even McGee looked up from his computer. They heard footsteps, and then another voice spoke directly into the phone.

"Mr. DiNozzo?" This was a lighter tenor voice.

"What's going on?" DiNozzo senior asked with a hint of panic in his voice.

"I have just dealt with a problem within my organization. You don't want to cause me problems, Mr. DiNozzo, and so far, you've done nothing but."

"No," DiNozzo said. His eyes were wide.

"I will be in touch."

"Anthony . . . I want to speak to my son."

"Tony is well, but he's sleeping. Perhaps the next time I call." There was a click and then the phone went dead.

DiNozzo looked up, his face drained of color. He sought Gibbs' eyes. "He killed him, didn't he? He killed Tom?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Yeah, I think he did."

"He's going to kill Anthony," DiNozzo said in a dead voice.

"Leonard, these people know their jobs," Joyce said.

"He's going to kill my son." For the first time, he actually sounded like he cared about more than his money or his own consequence.

Gibbs pursed his lips. They had a job to do. "McGee?"

Tim didn't even have to check what he was asking. "Got the location, Boss."

"Gas the car up and tell me on the way. Ziva, Fornell?"

Gibbs paused as he passed the senior DiNozzo. "We are going to find him, before they kill him."

"What if you don't?" DiNozzo demanded.

Gibbs gave him a shrug. "Not an option."

* * *

McGee hated it when Gibbs drove at the best of times. At moments like this, it was even worse. Gibbs might not let his emotions show outwardly much, but they sure got involved in his driving.

They reached the warehouse the call had been made from and spread out. McGee didn't much like infiltrations after dark, but they didn't have a lot of choice. He took a side door into the building and sidled down a darkened hallway, his flashlight held parallel to his gun barrel. Naturally, he'd selected a path that had lots of doors. He turned into the first one, and then the next. Both empty, of furniture and of people. The next was a bathroom, also empty. His heart was beating fast. The next door led into an office and there was a coppery smell overlaying the scent of gunpowder. He could see blowback on the back wall. There was a gun on the desk and spent casings on the floor. He edged further into the room and activated his radio. "Boss, I've got something."

"What is it, McGee?"

While he'd spoken, he'd moved far enough to see the body on the floor behind the desk. "I think it's Thomas Alkire."

"You're not sure?"

"His face is . . ." McGee gulped. "Gone."

The others got to him quickly, and before long Ducky and Palmer had arrived. Ducky got one look at the body and said, "Well, I guess there's not much question how he died."

"Not really, Duck," Gibbs said.

"This reminds me of an occasion many years ago. The body in that case was a young man who walked in on a robbery, and he –"

McGee looked up nervously. He didn't think Gibbs was in the mood to tolerate Dr. Mallard's ramblings.

"Duck, we're on a tight schedule here," Gibbs said impatiently. "I just need to know if this is Thomas Alkire, and anything else you can tell me about him."

"Of course, Jethro, I'm sorry," Ducky replied.

"The shooter did not police his brass," Ziva said.

"That's because he left the gun behind," Gibbs replied, looking around. "Ziva, take pictures. McGee, bag and tag."

At the same moment, Fornell was ordering Sacks to bag and tag. McGee met Sacks' eyes as their bosses went out of the room, leaving it to them to decide how to manage the collision of their duties.

* * *

Fornell followed Gibbs out of the office and on his search of the rest of the warehouse. Neither spoke, but they searched the place top to bottom. There was no sign that DiNozzo had ever been there. "He probably wouldn't have called from their hideout, Gibbs," Fornell said finally. "It wouldn't have been smart."

"Well, he got shot, Tobias," Gibbs replied. "He did something not smart."

Fornell nodded. "True enough. Maybe they're nearby."

"We'll need to check that out, but I imagine that if they were nearby, they aren't anymore."

"Anything we find is more than we had before." Fornell paused. "You know, Gibbs, with this latest development, the chances are your man is –" Gibbs turned towards him and Fornell broke off at the sheer level of anger in his eyes. He wished he could radiate that air of concentrated menace.

"DiNozzo is still alive," Gibbs said curtly.

Fornell understood the emotion, but he really felt they needed to have a realistic take on the situation. He cleared his throat uneasily and tried again. "We all hope that, Jethro, but if they had to move, chances are . . ."

"DiNozzo is alive," Gibbs said, and he stalked off before Fornell could speak again.

"He must be," Officer David said, and Fornell gave her a startled look. He hadn't heard her approach.

"And why's that?" Fornell asked.

She smiled. "He would not dare disobey." With that, she sauntered after her boss, and Fornell was left with the thought that Gibbs' people were just as crazy as he was.

Once the scene was taken care of and Mallard had left with the body and the evidence that was going back to NCIS, Sacks and McGee got together on the process of checking the security cameras outside all the warehouses, tracing Alkire's movements, assuming the dead guy was Alkire.

"We've got him, Boss, and he's wearing the same clothes as our stiff, so that's a tentative ID," McGee said.

Gibbs sure had a stick up his butt. Most people would have called finding the body with the relevant cell phone in hand close enough for a positive ID, but not Gibbs. Gibbs had special rules, and his people followed them to the letter.

"Where did he come from, McGee?"

"Following him back, Boss. It's a little challenging, because we have to catch each camera's transmission separately, since not all of these warehouses belong to the same people."

"And?" Gibbs asked in a deceptively mild tone.

"And I'm going as fast as I can, Boss." Gradually, McGee and Sacks – more McGee than Sacks, Fornell thought privately – led them through the maze of warehouses to another building. Fornell glanced at his watch. His wife would already have been asleep for hours now. McGee paused for a long moment, then said, "I think he came out this door."

"You think?" Gibbs repeated.

McGee looked up from his computer. "I know. I know he came out this door, Boss."

Officer David tried the knob, but it didn't open. "We're going to need a warrant," Fornell said.

"Exigent circumstances," Gibbs replied calmly before rearing back and kicking the door open. When he saw Fornell gazing at him in alarm, he shrugged. "One of my men could be in there. I'm not waiting for a judge to wake up and understand the issue."

David was already inside, and Gibbs followed her without further comment. McGee had disappeared inside before Fornell had decided what to do. Sacks shrugged. "I see two possibilities, sir, either he's right or there's a felony in progress," he said.

"And either way, we should go along to keep an eye on things." He followed McGee.

The first floor of this building was a huge open space, and it was echoingly empty. There was an elevator big enough to park a Buick in on one side. Sacks caught sight of something and moved away to Fornell's left, and Fornell followed. There wasn't much chance of anyone sneaking up on them in this space, but it was well to be prepared. Sacks walked over and knelt down, flashing his light on a shiny black smear on the floor. "Fresh engine oil," he said.

"Get a photo, then bag it!" Gibbs ordered over his shoulder. Officer David was already on her way back.

Fornell left her with Sacks and hurried after Gibbs. "We don't know if this place is occupied, Gibbs. We could run into legal occupants around any corner."

"Like hell," Gibbs growled. He walked right into the corner of the elevator where shadows had hidden a lump of fabric. He grabbed it and a belt fell to the floor, the shiny silver buckle clattering against the wood slats. Gibbs picked it up and looked at Fornell. "This is DiNozzo's," he said.

"It's a belt, Jethro," Fornell replied. It looked pretty generic to him.

With two fingers through the buckle and the other hand gripping the belt just behind the buckle, Gibbs gave a solid yank. For a millisecond, Fornell wondered what the hell he thought he was doing, but then a small, glittering blade emerged from the end of the belt. Fornell blinked at it, a little startled. "It's DiNozzo's," Gibbs repeated, and sheathed the knife again. Fornell didn't argue further. Gibbs coiled the belt and stowed it in an evidence bag. He shook out the fabric the belt had been wrapped in and it turned into a shirt and boxers. McGee bagged them as well.

"Up or down, Boss?" McGee asked.

"We'll take down." Gibbs turned to David and Sacks, who had just arrived outside the elevator. "Ziva? You and Sacks go up."

She nodded, and Sacks caught Fornell's eye. Fornell nodded. He was content to let Jethro take the lead on this. For one thing, he was doing most of the same things Fornell would do. For another, it greatly increased his life expectancy. McGee hit the down button on the elevator and the huge thing jolted into motion. When they came to a stop, it was on a broad hallway. Large doors let out on either side. They moved carefully along the hall. Most of the doorways were open.

They were almost all the way to the other end of the hall when Gibbs stopped, staring at a blank wall. "There should be a door here," he said. McGee leaned close to the wall, examining it carefully while Fornell went to the previous storage room and scoped it out.

"I'd say you're right, Jethro, but I don't see how we can get into it from here."

Gibbs was already moving back towards the elevator. McGee and Fornell caught up just as he hit the button. They followed as Gibbs strode across to the other side of the warehouse to a pair of double doors. These were not locked, and Gibbs rolled one of them to the side, revealing an office area. Like the rest of the building they'd seen, it appeared deserted. They started checking rooms, McGee and Gibbs split off on the first two doors, and Fornell pressed further in. He reached a room that had blankets and other bedding. "Hey, Gibbs, you need to take a look here."

While the others were still on the way, Fornell crossed to the door on the other side of the room. He waited until Gibbs and McGee reached him, then raised an eyebrow. Gibbs positioned himself to cover the door and nodded. Fornell flung it open and Gibbs stepped through the opening. Immediately, Fornell could hear him going down a flight of steps, and he followed hastily. There was a narrow room at the base of the stairs and a door at the other side that Gibbs was heading for urgently. The room was empty except for one of those room service carts they used in hotels. A tablecloth lay crumpled on the floor behind it.

"This is it," McGee said when he reached the door. Fornell glanced up at him and saw that he was looking down at the flight of stairs. "This is where they took the video."

Gibbs reached the door on the lower level and flung it open. Fornell saw tension leave his shoulders. "I'm betting this was where they kept him," he said neutrally, but Fornell knew from that release of tension that Gibbs had been afraid of what he hadn't let Fornell say earlier. This didn't invalidate the point, they wouldn't leave the body where it could be found if they still expected the ransom, but it meant they still couldn't be sure.

"Get Ziva down here to take photographs," Gibbs ordered as he went into the room. Fornell followed. There was a radiator and one of those inflatable mattresses people keep for guests, and nothing else. Fornell tried to imagine his reaction if one of his guys was in this situation, and he shuddered. These bastards were going to pay dearly if Gibbs found them himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony's first thought upon awakening was that he was freezing. Then he wondered why the world around him shook so much. He was lying in darkness on an uneven surface, and when he tried to move to make himself more comfortable, he realized that his hands and feet were bound to stationary objects – or at least stationary relative to him, as the whole shebang appeared to be in a moving vehicle. He was also gagged, and that seemed to be making his breathing problematic. He was lightheaded, and he couldn't seem to draw in enough air. He strove to lengthen his breaths so that he wouldn't hyperventilate.

Feeling around the best he could, bound as he was, he figured out that he had to be in the trunk of a car, hence the tight binding. Everyone knew these days how to get noticed if you were stuck in the trunk of a car. He was still naked, though he thought there was something thrown over most of him. It didn't help much. His breathing wasn't easing any. He was in a U shape, his hands and feet tied to sections of the car's frame that were accessible from inside the trunk, and his back was to the opening. In this position, he might not be able to reach the trunk release or kick out the tail lights, but he could pound on the passenger seat, so he did.

After what seemed an eternity, one side of the rear seat opened somewhat, letting in light and fresh air. Tony breathed in deeply, but dust from the trunk and the coldness of the air made him cough into the gag, which made him start choking. Almost immediately, the car stopped and the open section of the seat was folded down and someone reached in to loosen the gag. He spat it out and gulped air into his lungs. When he had enough breath, he gasped out, "Are you trying to kill me?"

"You haven't been in the trunk more than four hours," Peter said, giving him an exasperated look.

"I can't breathe in here," Tony said. He could feel his lungs. He was reasonably sure that people weren't supposed to be able to feel those. They seemed heavy and difficult to fill.

"It takes eight hours for a normally healthy adult to start having serious problems, and we'll be there long before then." Peter reached out to stuff the gag back in his mouth.

Tony twisted his head to avoid him. "Whoa, wait, I'm not!" he said.

Peter stared at him, puzzled. "You're not what?"

He grimaced. He didn't want to talk about this. "A normally healthy adult," he said reluctantly. "My lungs are scarred."

"There's no one coming now, Pete," Butch called from the front seat. "But someone could show up anytime. Get him closed back in there."

"I can't!" Tony protested.

"How did your lungs get scarred?" Peter asked.

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It instigated another round of coughing, and he cleared his throat. "I know how this sounds, but . . . I had plague." There were mutterings from the front seat, but Tony was gazing into Peter's eyes, trying to convince him since he was in charge. "Someone sent a virus to the office, and I got lucky enough to breathe some in."

Peter gazed at him for a moment, then tilted his head. "Which plague?"

He never pronounced the word right, but Peter was waiting. Tony hoped someone would come by and notice something odd, but he didn't know how they would. At normal driving speeds, passersby didn't see much inside other people's cars. He bit his lip. "The one that's not spelled how it sounds."

"Pneumonic?"

"Yeah, that's it," Tony said, nodding, and Peter's eyes widened. "It left scars on my lungs. Normally it's not a big deal, but I . . . I can't do this." He gestured with his head around at the trunk. "I don't want to die, but I sure as hell don't want to suffocate. Been there, done that. I'd rather be shot."

"That can be arranged," Butch muttered.

"You haven't had plague!" Tony croaked.

"You haven't either, I'll wager," Butch growled, turning around.

Tony could see him glaring now that his eyes had largely adjusted to the light after the total darkness of the trunk. There were trees on either side of a narrow road up ahead, and he could see Lola's hair in the front passenger seat, but she hadn't turned around. He opened his mouth to speak, but took in dust with the air and ended up coughing again. Coughing while stuck in one position sucked big time. He could hear the three kidnappers speaking, but he couldn't understand them as he continued with racking coughs. Finally, the paroxysms slowed down and he was able to breathe normally again.

"We ought to just kill him, Pete," Butch said, and Tony clenched his fists as fear and anger swept through him. "We could shoot him right here and roll the body down the hill. He wouldn't –"

"Enough!" Peter snapped. He was still gazing at Tony. "I'm not going to gag you, Tony, because we're not likely to be close enough to anyone for you to be heard, and I will keep this open a couple of inches most of the time." Tony nodded, fury surging as panic subsided. Peter leaned towards him and put a hand on his face, stroking his cheek gently with his thumb. "Just remember, Tony, I will shoot you if you yell." With that, he drew back and brought the open panel of the seat nearly closed. The car started moving again and Tony lay still on the floor of the trunk, grinding his teeth.

What had changed? Was this move why Peter had insisted he drink a heavy duty sedative? Tony shook his head. That didn't track. If they'd sedated him for the trip, he'd still be out – and possibly dead. There was something else at work here.

He hoped that Butch was a good driver, because if there was a wreck, he was not in a good position. Not only would he be totally humiliated, he'd be hurt as well. Dislocated joints, sliced up wrists and ankles. Not a pretty picture.

He had no idea how long the rest of the drive was. He lay in semi-darkness, the only light coming from the finger width opening in the back seat. He could see Peter's fingers holding it open. There were occasional stops, but it was stop sign stopping, not stop light stopping. He never heard another car the whole time, which both pleased and alarmed him. No cars meant Peter kept the seat open and fresh air trickled in. It helped, not enough, but it helped. On the other hand, no cars meant no chance of rescue. He figured they had to be in an isolated rural area, because he couldn't think of anyplace else where there would be this total lack of traffic.

Finally, after a gentle right turn, they came to a stop and Lola got out of the front seat, slamming the door on that side of the car. Tony pressed forward. He wanted to know where they were. "Lola's opening the garage door," Peter said, and Tony realized that the other man could feel the pressure he was exerting on the seat. "It'll be just a few minutes more – and don't be tempted to yell. There's no one around for miles."

Tony just clenched his teeth. No point in telling the bastard that he didn't have the lung capacity to yell at the moment anyway. The car started moving again, very slowly, then it stopped and Butch turned the engine off. Peter dropped the unlatched side of the backseat down and Tony craned his neck to see out the windows. He couldn't tell what time of day it was, just that it was day time. The light was bright, but it started dimming almost immediately. Butch popped the trunk open and Tony squinted up at him. He was haloed by the light from the garage door, but that was closing even as Tony watched.

Butch pulled the blanket off Tony and bent to untie him. Tony longed to knock him on his ass, but even once he was loose, he couldn't do more than stretch his stiff muscles. Even getting out of the trunk sounded like too much effort. For one thing, Butch hadn't released the cuffs, he'd just unhooked them from the car frame. Maybe they'd let him crawl out through the back seat.

Butch reached in and grabbed him by the arms, and Tony flinched back automatically. The big man wrestled him out of the trunk without regard for the integrity of his limbs. Somewhat weakened by the wretchedness of the trip, Tony could neither resist nor hold in the grunts of pain. Butch put him feet-first on the ground, but when he tried to stand, he tottered and found that he had to catch onto the other man or brain himself on the back end of the car. His muscles were still too stiff to hold him up, and his left foot was tingling from a numbness he hadn't noticed before. Butch pushed him away with a curse. He stumbled sideways and ended up leaning against the wall of the garage. He glanced back out the way they'd come in, but the door had no windows. Neither did the walls, for that matter.

Peter and Lola seemed to be occupied with something, but Butch stayed next to Tony, keeping watch on him or whatever. Like he was in any shape to get up and run away. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor. It was cold, but he couldn't remain standing and concentrate on breathing at the same time. He reached up and pulled the gag from around his neck and threw it across the garage. The other man laughed at him and Tony spent a pleasant few minutes imagining him being eaten slowly by sharks.

"Butch!" At Peter's sharp-voiced exclamation, Butch stood up straight and stopped laughing. "We put the blanket in there for a reason. Let him sit on it till we're ready for him."

"Why don't we just shoot him and be done with it?" Butch demanded. "We're not giving him back." Good question, Tony thought, but he didn't really want it asked at the moment because he couldn't think of a good reason himself.

"We still need him," Peter said. "His father wants to talk to him when I call this evening." Tony blinked. He was going to be talking to his father later? That should be interesting. For which of his many sins would he be castigated on this occasion?

Butch yanked him to his feet, dropped the blanket on the floor and let him slide back down the wall. Tony sank back onto the blanket, now imagining Butch going through an endless time loop of sensitivity training. Butch had reached the mindless drooling stage in Tony's imagination before Peter came and squatted down in front of him. "Do you think you're up to walking now?"

He wanted to curse and yell at him. He wanted to smack him with his bound hands. He wanted to tell the scrawny bastard just what he thought of him. He summoned a smile. "I can try," he said, forcing his voice to be pleasant. It had become very clear to Tony that his survival really, profoundly depended on Peter's continuing to like him. He just really hoped that Peter didn't like him as much as he was beginning to suspect he did. He needed to like him, sure, but just enough to keep him alive. Not too much. Of course, Tony knew he was probably imagining things, but . . . he was babbling in his own head. Not a good sign. Regardless, threats of murder aside, Peter did seem very tactile. He took Tony's hands and helped him to his feet, and when Tony swayed slightly, he put his arm around Tony's waist again. "I'm good," Tony said, pulling away, but Peter stayed close.

A door in the back of the garage led into a sort of anteroom – he'd have called it a mud room, but who had a mudroom to get into the garage? There were cupboards, shelves with gardening implements on them, a door to the outside and a set of stairs leading down. Peter guided Tony to the stairs. "The house and the garage are detached," he said. "But they share a common basement."

"Handy," Tony said. For kidnappers and serial killers, at any rate. The stairs weren't quite wide enough for two abreast, so Peter started down first, presumably to catch Tony if he fell. They might both break their necks if that happened. Tony focused on keeping his balance.

Butch started to follow them down, but Peter paused, then looked up at him. "Get rid of the car," he ordered.

"Right. You sure you don't need any help with him?"

"Lola's here." Tony struggled to keep his reaction off his face. One little guy and a woman were all it was taking to control him. But they had guns and he wasn't up to wrestling a brownie scout for her cookies right now. Besides, he had no idea where he was. He couldn't be sure how long they'd driven or in what direction. All he knew was that he was naked, in a strange place, handcuffed, and held by people who wouldn't hesitate to shoot him if he got out of line.

Butch rolled his eyes. "Fine. You're the boss. Be back in a while."

At the foot of the stairs was a laundry room. The furnace made up one wall with a little pass through into what seemed to be a storage area. It was the neatest such that Tony had ever seen. Boxes piled in orderly rows, labeled clearly. Most of them said 'Books' with a list appended of which books. There were stairs leading upward on the other side of the room. Tony looked at them disgustedly. He was tired. Even though he'd slept all night, hours in the back of that car without sufficient air had taken a toll on him. Staying down here sounded more appealing than climbing more stairs. For one thing, his lungs burned from the effort movement cost him. For another, there were boxes down here that said things like 'Baseball Supplies.' Handcuffs would not seriously hinder the use of a baseball bat, and Tony could think of several people whose heads would better for the judicious application of that implement. They were crossing the room when Tony decided he'd had enough. He came to a stop and contemplated the armchair that was sitting in the corner. It had several cushions on top of it, but he figured he could toss those on the floor. Peter kept going to the foot of the stairs, then he seemed to notice that Tony hadn't kept up.

"Tony, come on," he said.

"Why?" Tony asked wearily. He turned his eyes away from the chair to Peter's face. "You're going to kill me anyway, so why should I bother?"

Peter blinked at him, looked up the stairs for a second, then walked back over to him. Reaching up, he cupped Tony's cheek with his hand. "I'm not going to kill you, Tony."

"Butch seems to think you are." Tony thought that Peter was a good deal too close to him, naked as he was.

"What Butch doesn't know won't hurt him," Peter said with a smile. Then he seemed to consider his statement and let out a quiet chuckle. "Actually, it might, but that needn't concern you. Suffice it to say, I'm not going to kill you." He took Tony's left hand in his right and drew him along towards the stairway. "I have other plans for you, my dear Tony." Tony hesitated, pulling back. He didn't like the sound of that at all. Peter turned and smiled at him. "Don't be foolish, Tony. You've been many things so far, but never foolish. Come along."

He pushed Tony in front of him when they reached the stairs. Tony almost balked when he realized just where Peter's face would be once they were on the incline. He forced himself forward and tried not to think about it. He was probably reading too much into things. Everyone was always telling him how self-centered he was.

He started coughing again and stopped cold in his tracks as he doubled over. He grabbed onto the railing with both hands, trying to keep from falling. When the fit subsided, he stood up again. His balance wavered for a second and Peter steadied him with gentle hands on his waist. The hands lingered after Tony had caught his balance, thumbs moving up and down on the small of his back. Tony started forward again and Peter's hands dropped away. Tony gulped nervously. Was he misreading that?

All the blinds in the house were drawn. No doubt that was some of what Peter and Lola had been up to while he'd waited. Tony let Peter take the lead again, and the smaller man took him into a bathroom. Here there were no drawn blinds, but the glass was frosted.

"Things are not quite ready upstairs, and I thought you might like the opportunity to get cleaned up."

Tony nodded. Peter was going to leave him alone? That would be great. He could look out a window . . . find a phone . . .find some pants.

"Give me your hands," Peter said. Uncertainly Tony held them out. Was he actually going to uncuff him? That would be even better. Peter undid the left cuff and pulled Tony forward towards a bar on the wall above the tub.

"No way," Tony protested. He pulled back. "I won't –" A footstep behind him made him break off and turn. Lola had come to the doorway with her trusty pink taser. He sighed. He needed to be liked. Fighting back when there was no possibility of success made little sense to begin with. It made even less sense if it irritated the one man Tony needed to keep on the good side of.

Peter pinched Tony's ass, causing Tony to stand up straight in surprise and alarm.

"You won't what, Tony?" Peter asked with a smile. Tony tried to regain his composure. "Come now, Tony, were you going to promise not to try to escape? I'm not that trusting."

"It was worth a try," Tony said with what he hoped was a friendly smile and not a grimace. He let Peter cuff him to the bar, which necessitated stepping into the tub.

"You should be able to reach everything from here," Peter said, pulling the towels closer and looking around at the hygiene products. The minute Tony was cuffed to the wall, Lola left again, apparently confident that Peter could handle himself with his prisoner stuck in one spot. Tony glanced at the window. It didn't appear to open. "That's not glass, by the way, it's plexiglas." Peter went to the door. "I'll be back soon."

"Take your time," Tony said.

"Oh I will, Tony," Peter said, looking him up and down. "I will." He left, and Tony found himself staring at the closed door in deep dismay.


	9. Chapter 9

Abby was on her third Caf-Pow of the day, and it wasn't even eleven o'clock yet. McGee actively feared the coming caffeine crash. Gibbs seemed not to notice her excessive energy, but McGee knew better. Gibbs noticed everything.

Abby looked earnestly at her idol. "I have a plethora of evidence, but nothing to check it against," she said.

"Nothing?" Gibbs asked mildly, and Abby burst into frenetic explanation.

"All right, well, almost all of the fingerprints you found in the prison cell were Tony's," she said. "There are a fair number of smudges that we can't get anything from, and two index fingers and a thumb from unknown individuals, I'm running them against AFIS and nothing yet."

"It looks like Tony did a very careful examination of that room, Boss," McGee remarked. "His fingerprints were on every wall, the door and sections of the floor."

Gibbs just shrugged in that way that said he expected nothing different. "What about the blood spatter in the outer room?"

"That appears to have come from the events we saw on the video," McGee said, and Abby nodded to confirm.

"It's Tony's blood type and it follows the classic pattern," she said. "It definitely came from when that guy punched him." She tilted her head curiously. "Are you going to punch him back?"

Gibbs didn't answer verbally, but McGee thought Abby already knew the answer. "What about the ballistics?" Gibbs asked.

"The gun found on the desk is definitely the one that killed Thomas Alkire. The slug you dug out of that door in the outer room of Tony's prison was too malformed to get anything from. I can say that there was no blood or tissue adhering to it. It most likely did not pass through a human body on its way to the door."

"Good to know." Gibbs turned to McGee. "Background on Thomas Alkire?"

"He is wanted for fraud in three states," Ziva said. "He never married, has no children, both his parents are alive. His mother lives in Los Angeles and his father lives in Chicago."

"Divorced?"

"And remarried, both of them," Ziva said.

"Friends?"

"His known associates are either in prison or proving difficult to track down," Ziva replied. Gibbs looked at her for a long moment and she said, "But I will find them. Excuse me, Abby." Then she hurried out of the room.

"Anything useful to learn from the DVD?" Gibbs asked.

There was a ding as the fingerprints found a match. They all looked up at the green bar and watched a picture come up on the screen. Aaron Thornburg, wanted for armed robbery, extortion, blackmail and sundry other charming offenses.

"McGee, find out everything there is to know about Aaron Thornburg."

"On it, Boss." McGee gave Abby's shoulder a squeeze and hurried out.

* * *

Tony took a long and very hot shower. There was no point in not since he was naked anyway. He pulled the curtain across and turned the water as hot as it would go. Maybe he could ease the tightness in his lungs with the steam. He turn the water off as soon as it started to cool. There were two towels in easy reach, so he wrapped one of them around his waist, scrubbed his hair dry with the other, then wrapped it around his torso. He did make a half-hearted attempt to break the window, but it just jarred his arms to the shoulder and made no impact.

Once the water was off, the room cooled down quickly. Bathrooms were always cold, and this one was no exception. He started to shiver. As he grew colder, he leaned out against the handcuff and reached for the nearer of the dry towels. The damp ones were increasing his chill. He couldn't quite grab it and he cast around the room looking for something he could use to increase his reach. There just wasn't anything. The shampoo and conditioner containers were hotel-sized, and one toothbrush wasn't enough to grab with. Not that he didn't try, but while he could reach the towel with the toothbrush, all he could do was hit it.

He hunched down, trying to conserve his heat. How long did he have to wait? All the benefit he'd derived from the steam was being undone by the damp cold. He realized now that he should have skipped the shower, but the idea of getting clean after all that had happened had made it irresistible. He sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the opposite side of the tub, trying not to feel the catch in his breathing and the ache in his lungs. He had to get out of here. He had to get away from Peter, but he was pretty well convinced that Lola didn't give a damn what happened to him, and Butch actively wanted him dead. Another coughing fit tore through him, and he wondered if he was actually getting sick. That would make his week perfect.

He needed to get to a phone.

By the time the door opened again, Tony had started to feel the congestion in his head, and he knew he was getting officially sick. Now he wasn't sure if he was cold because of the temperature in the room or if it was because he had a fever. Peter came in and in a chipper voice, said, "Tony dear, how are you doing?"

He looked over his shoulder at Peter. "Peachy," he said hoarsely, and his teeth chattered as he spoke.

"Oh dear," Peter said. He disappeared and returned with a big, thick terry cloth robe. He draped the robe around Tony's shoulders and leaned across him to unhook the cuff. "Now, put your arms through, Tony, and I'll just . . ."

Tony put his arms through the sleeves and Peter cuffed his wrists together again. He felt ridiculously pathetic because he didn't even try to resist. He just wrapped the robe around himself and clutched it close.

"Now, Tony, get up." Peter chivvied him into getting to his feet and tugged the damp towels from his body, encouraging Tony to pull the robe closed again.

"What now?" Tony asked.

"Your room is ready," Peter said. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how long you'd been in here."

Tony wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just let Peter guide him through the house. They went up another flight of stairs and through an open doorway into a room that had no windows. The walls were white and slightly shiny. There was a large bed, a bedside table with two shelves and a couple of comfortable chairs. There were a few books on the bottom shelf of the bedside table. It was also extremely warm. A door on the other side of the room could have led to a closet, but Tony suspected that it didn't. He thought it probably led to a bathroom.

"What's going on here?" he asked.

"This is your room, Tony," Peter said. He pressed a button by the archway that led into the room and a door slid shut with a metallic clang that made Tony flinch. "Whoever built this house had a paranoid streak, I do believe. It seems odd to have this kind of panic room out in the middle of the country, but it suits my purposes admirably."

Tony stared at the shut door and shuddered slightly. A panic room? If they had a way of keeping it closed from the outside, he was in trouble. There wouldn't be any real need to keep him cuffed. He'd be completely trapped.

"Sit down. Warm yourself." Tony sat. He was exhausted and he felt like falling down on the bed and going to sleep. Instead, he sank down in a chair, leaned his head against the back and closed his eyes.

After a moment or so, Tony heard a strange clinking sound that snapped his eyes open and made him sit straight up. Peter had gone to the head of the bed and picked up a shiny silver chain. He came towards Tony with it. Tony got to his feet and backed away. "What's that?"

"Hold still, Tony," Peter said. "This is for your own protection."

"You're going to chain me to the wall for my own protection?"

"It will cut down on your temptation to behave foolishly," Peter replied. "Tony, it won't hurt you."

"You're nuts!" Tony exclaimed. His back hit the wall. "I won't let you do that!"

Peter paused, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Come now, Tony, you really have no choice."

"I will not," Tony snarled. "This is crazy." The door slid open to reveal Lola with her pretty pink stun gun. "I won't," Tony said.

"Very well. Lola?"

Tony fell to his knees when the jolt of electricity hit him, and then he felt Peter unlocking one of the cuffs, pulling that arm out of the sleeve of the robe and hooking the cuff onto the end of the chain. Peter and Lola helped him to his feet and got him over to the bed where they stripped him of the robe, covered him up, and left him alone. Tony lay still for a long time, his body zinging from the volts that had been run through it.

Finally he lifted his right arm and looked at the cuff that ringed it, listened to the rattle of the chain, and tried not to remember the woman who'd brained him in the ammo locker and her predecessors who'd died chained to walls in bridal gowns. He wasn't going to learn to be a good wife any more than they had.

If McGee found him in here, he'd never hear the end of it. And he'd be good with that. He'd be great with that. It would be spectacular. McGee could come in right now, in fact, so long as someone had already dealt with Peter and his .44.

He rolled onto his side and started coughing again. His chest ached, and he was afraid he had some kind of respiratory infection. He just hoped it didn't get any worse, because it was pretty damned certain he wasn't getting any treatment for it. At least no more than they could manage here.

He wormed under the covers and fell into a fitful sleep until the door opened again. The sound of the sliding door jerked him awake, and he sat up uneasily. The rattling of the chain irked him, but the smell of food woke his stomach up. He evidently wasn't all that sick if he could smell the food and if he was hungry for it.

Lola walked in the door carrying a microwave dinner on a plate and a can of Sprite. He looked up at her and tilted his head. "What do you get out of this arrangement?" he asked, taking them.

"What do you care?" She turned and went to the door.

Tony shrugged, pretending a nonchalance he didn't feel. "Curiosity."

She snorted, and looked over at him with an unexpected chill in her eyes. "Curiosity killed the cat," she said.

"But satisfaction brought it back," he added, gesturing with the Sprite can.

"I wouldn't count on that if I were you, Agent DiNozzo," she said. "Peter may forget what you are, but neither Butch nor I will." She smiled. "Enjoy your meal." Punching the button, she left the room without another word.

Tony shivered. Well, that made two people who actively wanted him dead. A tickle in his chest made him cough again, but he controlled the reaction sharply. Illness would make him more of a liability than he already was, and he didn't need to give them ammunition to convince Peter to kill him. Ammunition? He grinned and automatically looked for someone to share the lame joke with, but he was alone. He didn't much like being alone.

He turned to his chicken whatsit and started to eat. Food would help him keep his strength up so he wouldn't get sick.

* * *

Gibbs studied the quartet of photographs on the plasma over his desk. All four were of Aaron Thornburg, and he looked different in each one. Armed robbery. No one had ever died, or murder would top his list. However, he'd maimed a couple of people in his day. Assault and battery. Dating this man was not wise for a woman who wanted to remain healthy. Nor was walking by him with a diamond bracelet, from the look of his rap sheet. Extortion. He'd never been implicated in a kidnapping before, but he'd been involved in a protection racket in Saint Louis, and he'd used a girl he knew to get men into compromising positions so they could get money out of them through blackmail. The list was extensive. Grand theft auto, petty larceny, all of it pointed to a man who should have gone away for life, but all of his felony convictions dated back before the laws got harsher.

"I believe that man might be the one who was beating Anthony," Ducky said from behind him.

"Ya think, Duck?"

DiNozzo senior's cell phone began to ring. McGee had taken pity on the man and reset its ringer to something more innocuous. Now it simply rang instead of playing music. DiNozzo looked at him and swallowed. "Speaker again?" he asked. Gibbs nodded. DiNozzo pressed the appropriate button and said, "Leonard DiNozzo."

"Lenny? I've got –" The speaker phone abruptly cut off as DiNozzo pushed a button and put the phone to his ear.

"Don't call me on this line. I need it to stay open. What number? I don't know . . . I – oh." McGee had handed him a hastily scrawled note and he read the direct number for McGee's desk phone to his caller and hung up. "It's my banker, pulling the money together," he said.

Gibbs nodded as McGee's phone began to ring. McGee answered and handed the phone across to DiNozzo senior. Ziva walked up beside him, and Gibbs spoke without turning. "McGee, get pictures of his known associates."

"Got 'em, boss," McGee said instantly, but before his nimble fingers could pop them onto the screen, DiNozzo's phone began to ring again. DiNozzo hung up on his banker and stared at his cell phone in apparent consternation.

"Answer it," Gibbs said in an urgent undertone.

DiNozzo started and then pushed the button. "Leonard DiNozzo," he said.

"Dad?" It was Tony's voice, but he sounded kind of hoarse. Of course, he might have been doing a lot of yelling.

"Anthony!" DiNozzo senior exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"Just dandy. Hey boss."

Gibbs almost laughed, but that wasn't the tone DiNozzo needed at the moment. "DiNozzo," he barked. "You're late."

"Trying not to be, boss," DiNozzo snapped back, but the last word dissolved into a cough that sounded like it was coming from deep in his chest. Gibbs ground his teeth. Not a good sign.

"Well, now that you have ample proof that 'young Anthony' is still alive," said the voice of the man who had killed Tom, "I will be expecting my money."

"How do you want it?" DiNozzo asked.

"Wired to a bank in Zurich," he said. "I have e-mailed the information to Agent Gibbs' address. Don't bother trying to trace it, Agent McGee. I took special pains because I knew it would have to withstand your scrutiny and that of Miss Sciuto. Get it to me by Thursday at noon, or Anthony will be even later."

The phone cut off, and there were several moments of silence. A moment later, DiNozzo senior turned on Gibbs. "How dare you address my son in that tone?" he demanded angrily.

Gibbs turned back to the plasma. "McGee, those pictures. Now."

"Right, boss."

DiNozzo senior started to pursue the point, but Gibbs heard Ziva speaking to him and nodded. She would get the bastard out of his hair, so he could do his job. Six pictures appeared on the screen, all of them booking photos. Two women, four men. McGee got up. "These three are currently in prison," he said, pointing to three of the men. "This woman, Denise Rimbauer, was last seen in Norfolk, rolling sailors for their ready cash while they were on leave. That was six months ago, and she wasn't caught. I've got no information on the present whereabouts of the other two, but I'm still looking."

"Good. And get the recording of that call down to Ducky. I want to know his take on that cough. It didn't sound good."

"So he's coughing," DiNozzo senior said. "What does that matter? He's alive, and you had no right to yell at him like that."

"He called?" Joyce said, and Gibbs turned. Fornell was right. She did seem to give more of a damn about Tony than his father did.

"Yes, Joyce, he did," DiNozzo senior replied, "and Agent Gibbs here seemed to –"

"What do you mean about coughing?" Joyce asked anxiously, taking a step towards Gibbs.

"He sounds like he picked up a cold or something," DiNozzo senior said. "What's all this concern about whether he's coughing or not? Surely there are more important things to worry about than that."

"Not when a cough could kill him if not treated appropriately," Ducky said, and DiNozzo turned to him in surprise. "I sincerely doubt that his captors realize that his lungs are compromised. What sort of coughing was it, Jethro?"

"Deep," Gibbs said.

"That's not good," Ducky replied. McGee tapped a couple of keys and suddenly Tony's voice played over his computer speakers. They listened to him speaking and to the cough again, Gibbs keeping a tight leash on his temper. "Very not good," Ducky said, his eyes wide.

"Do we need to call Dr. Pitt and let him know we could need him on a moment's notice?" Gibbs asked.

"It wouldn't hurt anything. I'll take care of it, Jethro."

"Who is Dr. Pitt?" DiNozzo senior asked. "His doctor will certainly be available at a moment's notice, surely."

Ducky hadn't gone far, and at this question, he turned back. "I am his doctor of record," he said. "Dr. Pitt is his pulmonary specialist, the man who cared for him during his bout with pneumonic plague."

"At Bethesda?" DiNozzo senior asked, and Ducky nodded. "Forgive me, but I'm sure I can find more qualified physicians than a medical examiner and a government quack."

"You are welcome to try," Ducky said. "Whether Anthony will consent to being treated by them is another story." He gave Gibbs a dark look and left the bullpen.

Sacks had been sitting at DiNozzo's desk all this time, working and keeping quiet. Gibbs turned to him. "Maybe you could take the DiNozzos up to the conference room and keep an eye on them there," he suggested. The FBI agent nodded and rose.

"Why are you trying to get rid of us?" DiNozzo senior demanded.

Gibbs didn't even grace him with a look. "Ziva, do you have an address for Thornburg yet?" he asked.

"Working on it, Gibbs," she said.

"Work harder. We have exactly no time."

"Agent Gibbs?"

He turned in surprise. Last he'd heard Jenny was still in San Antonio. Her appearance now might just keep him from killing someone. DiNozzo senior was the type who would regard being pawned off on the director as his due. "Director Shepard," he said. "This is Tony's father, Leonard DiNozzo, and his wife Joyce. Mr. and Mrs. DiNozzo, this is Director Jenny Shepard."

Jenny made meaningless noises to greet the DiNozzos and shook their hands, then she turned to Gibbs. "Status report?"

"We got a call from the kidnappers about fifteen minutes ago, and they let DiNozzo talk to us."

"So we know he's alive?"

"His responses weren't canned," Gibbs said. "And he sounds sick."

"Sick how?" she asked, her voice growing concerned.

"Deep coughs," he said, and her eyes widened. "We've got it covered. Ducky's calling Dr. Pitt in case he's needed and I couldn't step up our efforts any if I tried."

"Director, I'd like to register a complaint," DiNozzo said suddenly, and Gibbs' jaw clenched. "Agent Gibbs was actually nearly abusive on the phone when my son called, and he refuses to answer perfectly reasonable questions."

Gibbs gave her a look of near pleading, and she took pity on him. "Please come with me to my office and we can talk about your concerns in more detail," she said. Agent Sacks trailed them and Jenny didn't seem to object. Gibbs turned back to his team and got them working again.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony tried hard to muffle his coughing after the first one tore through and ended his ability to talk on the phone. Peter got up and moved away to finish the conversation, and Tony breathed as deeply as he could without setting off more coughs. He wanted a glass of water, but he was currently tucked up in a nice warm bed, blankets covering the assets he didn't particularly want to show off to his host. Unfortunately, Peter was speaking quietly enough and Tony was having to concentrate so hard on breathing that he didn't hear the rest of the conversation.

A glass of water appeared in front of him. "You don't sound well, Tony," Peter said, sitting down on the bed facing Tony.

"Probably just the dust from the trunk still working its way out of my lungs," Tony replied, hoping the lame answer would satisfy the other man. He took a drink of the water and breathed as deeply as he dared. "I'm fine."

"I asked Butch to pick up some cough syrup on his way back," Peter replied, gazing worriedly at Tony.

"Butch wants me dead," Tony said.

Peter leaned forward and brushed his fingers through the front locks of Tony's hair. "Butch is too frightened of me to take any action yet."

Tony blinked, feeling a little frozen by the intimate gesture. "Peter, what do you . . ." He trailed off, not finishing the question. He was afraid that it was too much to ask right now, but it was too late.

Peter tilted his head and cupped Tony's cheek. "What do I want, Tony?" he asked, finishing the question. Tony's stomach churned at the warmth in Peter's eyes, though he didn't show any outward reaction at all. Peter smiled. "I have what I want."

"And the money?"

"Required to provide an explanation for your disappearance," Peter said, his thumb stroking Tony's cheek lightly. "A body of suitable type will be found burned to a crisp a reasonable time after the ransom has been paid, and people will stop looking for Tony DiNozzo."

Tony gulped. "But what . . . you can't just keep me here."

"Why not?" Peter asked. He leaned forward and kissed Tony on the forehead. Tony didn't move, he was so stunned by the gesture that he didn't quite know how to react. "I'd kiss you properly, but I don't want to catch your cold." He stood up. "Get some sleep."

"I'm not sleepy," Tony said truthfully.

Peter paused. "There is a remote on the shelf there," he said, nodding towards the bedside table. He tapped a panel of the wall. "This conceals a TV screen. At some point I plan to add a DVD player, but that will come later. You have full access cable, so watch whatever you like." With that he left the room and Tony sank back against the pillows.

There it was. Out in the open. Peter wanted him sexually. Tony drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, concentrating on ignoring the tickle in his chest. Peter was having people buy him cough syrup. That meant he wasn't going to be deterred by Tony getting sick . . . though it might delay certain activities that Tony would just as soon got put off indefinitely. The question was, did Butch and Lola already know what Peter wanted? Butch kept suggesting they kill Tony. Would he do that if he knew his boss had the hots for him?

Tony stood up and started examining the room. He had to find a way out of here. Peter had total control over him. Food, water, sanitation, stimulation of any kind. He might even be able to cut off the air to this room. The walls were smooth and cool, like glass, and none of the furniture was moveable. He even tried taking the shelf out of the bedside table, but it was solidly placed. The books were lightweight paperbacks, so no threat there. The bathroom contained nothing more dangerous than a comb. Tony's beard was getting thick, and either Peter didn't care to have him shave or he intended to monitor the activity.

He kept having to pause to control coughing fits, though he didn't know why he bothered. Finally, he sat back down on the bed and pulled the covers up again. He reached into the bedside table and drew out the remote. Pointing it at the area of the wall Peter had identified, he pressed the power button. An area behind the wall lit up and produced a menu screen and Tony stared at it. That meant that every last one of the white walls around him could potentially be wired for observation.

The door opened abruptly and Butch came in with a paper bag. The door stayed open, but Tony was still chained to the wall, rendering escape more or less impossible. "Got your cough syrup, your highness," he said, carrying the bag over to Tony.

Tony looked up at him nervously as he fished the little box out of the bag. "Where's Peter?" he asked.

"In the kitchen, bullying Lola into making you chicken soup," Butch said. He ripped open the box and held out the bottle of cough syrup.

"Do you know what he wants from me?" Tony asked.

Butch laughed. "He's a randy little bastard, but he's got more sense than to let his dick rule for long." He wiggled the bottle at Tony, but Tony didn't make any move to take it.

Tony shook his head. "I'm not so sure of that," he said. "I think you could be in trouble. I think it would be safer for all three of us if you and Lola got me the hell out of here."

"Take the stuff," Butch ordered.

Tony took the bottle and Butch turned to go. "I'm serious," Tony said.

Butch shrugged. "I've known him a little longer, DiNozzo. Sure, he wants you, but when the time comes, he'll kill you, no matter what lies he's told you." He snorted. "He wants in your pants, and he's a guy. What makes you think he won't tell you any lie to get you to cooperate?"

"That is not happening."

"Good. That means he'll kill you all the sooner and we can be shut of you." Butch walked out and the door slammed home. Tony stared at it, only vaguely hearing the commercial for sleep aids on the TV. Who should he believe? He rested his forehead on his knees. Gibbs and Ziva needed to come in here and shoot these three wackos so Tony could go home.

He took a shot of cough syrup and settled back to watch an episode of _Sex in the City_.

* * *

Gibbs and Ziva burst through the door to the apartment, Fornell close behind them. They hadn't bothered with the petty issue of announcing themselves, which meant that nothing they found could be used in court, but Gibbs didn't give a damn about that. All he wanted to know is what Clancy Rodriguez knew about what Aaron Thornburg might be up to right now.

The man they were after stared at them from his seat on the sofa, but, though he tensed to run, he apparently thought their combined firepower sufficient cause to stay where he was.

"Who the hell are you people?" he demanded as they moved through the apartment, making sure that there weren't any other occupants. Gibbs returned to the front room and shut the door the best he could after his entrance.

"You're friends with Aaron Thornburg," Gibbs said. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Who?" Rodriguez asked. "I don't know anyone by –"

Ziva had returned to the front room as well, and she suddenly surged forward to press her gun to Rodriguez' throat, wrenching his head back with her hand in his hair. "You know him, you were arrested with him five times. Do not lie to us."

"What the . . . get away from me, lady!" he exclaimed.

"Ziva?" Gibbs said.

"I do not like liars, Gibbs," she replied without looking at him.

"No, I get that," Gibbs said. "I feel the same way." He caught Rodriguez' eye. "She's a little cranky, and she's used to hurting people to get answers. I'm not sure I can control her right now."

"Hey, man, I don't know where Aaron is. He's been working with some scary guy that I didn't want nothing to do with."

"This scary guy have a name?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't know it. I know what Aaron calls him, but I also know it's not his name."

"What does Aaron call him?"

"Peter."

"Do you know what Aaron's up to right now?" Gibbs asked.

"Not a fucking clue, man. Get her off me." Ziva's hand tightened in Rodriguez' hair. "I don't know! All I know is him and Denise are working something big. They asked me, but that Peter guy's got a messed up rep, and I didn't want anything to do with it."

"What's his rep?" Fornell asked, and Gibbs glanced over, mildly surprised that the FBI agent wasn't freaking out over the way Ziva had taken control of their witness.

"I'm not talking about him," Rodriguez said. "He'll kill me if he finds out."

"I will kill you if you do not speak," Ziva said, digging the gun barrel deeper into Rodriguez' chin. "And you cannot run from me."

"I don't know him!" Rodriguez exclaimed. "I just hear things."

"What do you hear?" Ziva demanded.

The story was unpleasant, and it didn't speak well for DiNozzo's future. According to Rodriguez, Peter was a volatile, unpredictable man, greedy and violent when crossed. He was also utterly ruthless in going after what he wanted, but Rodriguez had never heard of him getting involved with a kidnapping before.

They left Rodriguez to stew in his own juices. Gibbs hoped he was macho enough not to want to confess that a woman had intimidated him and thus wouldn't report them, not that it mattered much so long as they got DiNozzo back. Ziva pulled ahead of them as they went down the stairs. Fornell leaned over to him. "She wouldn't have killed him, would she?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I don't honestly know, Tobias." Fornell shot him a worried look but didn't reply. The phone rang. "Gibbs."

"Boss, none of these guys seem to know much about Thornburg's current activities. One of them, Mark Stuart, says that he heard from Denise Rimbauer that she was working with him and a couple of guys he didn't know on something big, but that's as much as he knew. Said she was bragging she'd be able to buy him a good lawyer for his appeal."

"Good work, McGee. Any information on this Denise Rimbauer?"

"Apart from being wanted in Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania for various frauds, not a thing."

"Get back to the office and find out everything there is to know about her. Pay particular attention to anything that seems to be connected to someone named Peter."

"Peter what?"

"I don't know." Gibbs suspected that McGee made some kind of response, but he flipped the phone shut and glanced at the clock. Forty-one hours . . . coming up quickly on forty-two. DiNozzo's time was running out.

* * *

A thunk awoke Tony and he looked up to find Lola entering the room carrying a tray. His head ached abominably, and he could have sworn he'd been watching something on TV. He glanced over at the wall and blinked. It looked like an episode of _Sex in the City_ , but it wasn't the one he'd been watching earlier. How long had he slept? He pushed himself upright, but the movement jarred loose the phlegm in his chest and he started coughing again. Glancing at the cough syrup, he cleared his throat. "How long has it been since Butch gave that to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"A little over an hour," she said. "You probably shouldn't take any more yet." She held the tray out to him. It held a bowl and a handful of saltine crackers. "Have some soup. Just like Mom used to make."

Tony snorted, then rode out a coughing fit that ensued. She held onto the tray, looking impatient. "Your mom, maybe," he said finally. "Mine made mint juleps." He took the tray and contemplated the soup. He knew he should eat, but he didn't feel like he had the energy. Whatever this was had hit him hard.

"Maybe I should just put you out of your misery," she said. Tony looked up, alarmed, and she laughed, but he knew that two of his captors would be happier if he was dead. He looked back down at the soup in mild alarm, and she laughed again. "I didn't poison the soup," she said. "Everyone's having some." He looked up at her, his alarm only increased by the fact that she'd caught on so quickly to his thinking. It sort of suggested that she might have had similar thoughts of her own.

She stood up, walked over and picked up his spoon. Meeting his eyes, she dipped the spoon into the soup and took a sip from it, working the spoon for all its possible erotic effect. Then she dropped it back into the bowl. "You see. It's not poisoned."

"But now it has Lola germs," Tony said, and she glared at him. She stood up straight again, went back over to one of the chairs and sat down.

"Do you have to stay?" he asked.

"I was instructed to take the empty bowl away when you were done," she said, sounding irritable. Tony looked down at the bowl. It was heavy stoneware and might make a decent weapon. He looked up to find that she had her taser out. "Don't even think about it."

Tony blinked at her uncertainly. "Will I get tasered for thinking about it?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Eat your soup."

"Soup à la Lola, huh?" Tony said. His appetite had been nonexistent before, but with her having used the spoon, then dropped it in the soup, the idea of eating the soup made him feel faintly sick to his stomach. He gave the crackers serious thought, but without the soup, they'd be awfully dry. He looked up at Lola, who was watching him with an odd smile on her face. "What?"

"Poor little rich boy, Mommy didn't even cook for him."

Tony sat up straighter. He hated that phrase. "I am not a poor little rich boy!" he snapped.

She shrugged. "That's what Peter calls you," she said. "Poor little rich boy, his daddy doesn't deserve him."

Tony shivered. "Has it occurred to you to wonder if Peter's crazy?"

She tilted her head. "Peter? Crazy? Of course he is, but then so am I. He's also watching." She made a vague gesture at the walls and ceiling.

"Duh," Tony said. "I'm not an idiot."

"But you play one on TV?" she said. "I've watched you playing around in nightclubs and bars. You do an exceptional idiot impression."

"Thanks, I think," Tony replied. "But don't you find all of this just a little creepy?" He gestured at the walls.

She shrugged again. "Not so much, he wants you, he's got you, whatever. It's all temporary, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Tony asked nervously.

"Eventually you'll do something to piss him off, he'll kill you, and it will be on to the new obsession. It's how he operates."

"You know he said he likes me better than he likes you."

She laughed. "Thank God. I've seen what he does to people he likes, DiNozzo. I'm not interested." Tony really didn't like the sound of that. "Don't worry. I've never seen one of his toys last longer than six months. You've got too much attitude to make it that long." Tony couldn't decide if that was more reassuring or alarming, but he didn't want to look at it too closely. She stood up. "Are you going to eat your soup?"

He looked at it. Her spit in his soup combined with these recent revelations made him feel even more nauseated. "I don't think so," he said.

"Fine." She took the tray and left. "Use the clock on the TV to judge your doses by. And that stuff won't kill you, so don't think you can take it all and escape like that." The door clanged shut behind her and Tony stared at it. Suicide was a possibility he hadn't even thought of. It wasn't an option. Gibbs would find him. At this point it was just a question of whether Tony could stay alive long enough. He had no idea whatsoever how long it had been. More than a day, but he'd been drugged so much that he didn't know more than that.

Gibbs had to be looking for him. No doubt he'd recruited Fornell to make it look like the right agency was doing the searching, but if he knew Gibbs, he knew who was in the lead of the investigation regardless.

His stomach gurgled faintly, as if regretting, far too late, his failure to eat the soup. His head felt like it was in a vise, though, and every breath caught at his chest. He pulled up the menu on the TV. Another two hours at least before he could take more cough syrup, and that assumed he'd be awake to do it.

While Lola had been in the room, he'd had adrenaline on his side, keeping him awake and alert, and pushing back both pain and fog. Now that she was gone, he felt his brain start to shut down. He put the back of his hand against his forehead. He felt warm, but he couldn't be sure if he was really warm or if he was just imagining things. Another coughing fit wracked him, and each cough felt like he was ripping through his lungs.

At this rate, pneumonia would kill him before Butch did. He drifted off to sleep again to the sound of Sarah Jessica Parker nattering on.


	11. Chapter 11

"Boss!" McGee said, hurrying over as they got out of the elevator. "I've found Denise Rimbauer."

Gibbs stopped short, ready to reverse course once he had an address. "Where is she?" he demanded when McGee didn't immediately pop up with the information.

"Mercy General," McGee said, and Gibbs turned to go. "She's in a coma, Boss. She was found shot in the head early Monday morning. Abby and I actually found her at the same time. She was running the casings we found at the scene of Alkire's death and I was tracking the name. She was shot with the weapon we found in the warehouse."

"Any other hits on the casings?"

"A few. Abby –"

"I didn't ask Abby, I asked you."

"Three shootings in the greater metropolitan area," McGee said promptly. "Including Rimbauer, and over the past three months. Four shootings in Pennsylvania, over the previous six months. Before that, nothing."

"Any suspects in any of those shootings?"

"No leads, Boss. The seven shootings took place in six different counties, and the departments hadn't made the connections yet."

"What about the gun?"

"Purchased in '96 by a man named Ronald Chesney, it was stolen from his widow approximately nine –"

"Nine months ago," Gibbs finished for him. "Damn it!" He glanced over at Fornell, but before he could speak, he saw Jenny standing on mezzanine. She clearly wanted to talk to him, and the DiNozzos weren't anywhere in evidence so he made a quick calculation and sighed. "Fornell, what next?"

"You're asking me?" Fornell asked, giving him a startled look.

"I need to go talk to my director," he said. "And then I want to go check on Rimbauer. What's your next move?"

"I've got a couple of phone calls to make. If you're out when I'm done, I'll go with you to see Rimbauer."

Gibbs nodded and went up the stairs. Jenny turned away as he approached and led him towards her office, which he was glad to find was free of DiNozzos. She held the door for him and shut it behind. "I'm impressed that you haven't murdered that man, Jethro," she said.

"It wouldn't help me find DiNozzo, now would it?" Gibbs asked.

"No, it wouldn't, but it would feel good." She glared in the direction of the conference room. "By the way, what did you say to DiNozzo on the phone that's got him so riled up?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I told him he was late, which is true." He glanced at the clock. "He's missed two days of work without leave."

Jenny gave him a peculiar look. "I think I'll grant him an exception," she said. "That all?" Gibbs nodded. "For a man who seems to care less about his son's health than what his son's situation will look like in the eyes of the world, he's certainly bent on having you censured for speaking harshly to him."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "He thinks of Tony as an extension of himself – look what he named him."

"So if you're rude to Tony, you're being rude to him?" she asked.

"Is this all you wanted, Jenny? I have work to do."

"I'd like an update. What have you learned that isn't on paper? Everything."

Much as he begrudged the time it would take, he knew Jenny. She could move heaven and earth from her position, and she would if need be. However, she needed up to date information for that to be productive. He filled her in as quickly as he could and hurried back downstairs to join Fornell.

"Gibbs?" Ziva said as he passed her desk, and he looked down at her. "Some of my contacts know of an American man calling himself just Peter who is an arms merchant of sorts."

"Of sorts?" Gibbs repeated, not sure what it meant.

"He was described as a dilettante. I do not know if he is the man we are looking for, but I thought I would float the name and see if I found any connections."

"What else do they know about him?"

"Only that he was described by a former associate as psychotic," she said with a worried look. "It may not be the man."

"But it may. Squeeze every detail you can out of this former associate."

He heard her protesting as he strode toward the elevator but he didn't pause to find out why. She'd resolve it or she wouldn't. He'd seen that Fornell was ready to go, and he wasn't waiting.

* * *

McGee was chasing through the reports on all the shootings that had been connected to the gun they had in evidence on the off chance that he'd catch something the PDs hadn't. When he found a partial fingerprint in one of the files, he ran it down to Abby instantly, but it matched up quickly with the victim of the crime. Abby started babbling angrily about the inept forensics technicians who had failed to identify the print, but he just sat at the nearby table and kept going through the files. Maybe one of those inept technicians had left evidence they could actually use.

Each shooting followed a similar pattern. No witnesses, there was no significant physical evidence that didn't point to the victim him or herself. And they were all shot in the head from the front. Only Denise Rimbauer had lived, and her continued survival was chancy. For four of the shootings, there was no obvious motive. The other four . . . one followed an illegal arms deal, one was connected to armed robbery at a jewelry store, a third had followed a bank robbery, and the last was Denise Rimbauer. In each of these cases, the victim was identified as a participant in the earlier crime.

In four of the shootings, the person killed was an accomplice, which struck him as significant. In the case of illegal arms dealing, the gun shop which had bought the weapons reported a man named Peter being involved in the transaction, but no one had ever seen him. The only people they'd met with were the man who had later been killed and a woman no one could describe as anything other than ordinary. There was a sketch included, and McGee shook his head. He could think of half a dozen women who could be identified from it, including Ziva, so that was no help.

He handed it across to Abby anyway to do facial recognition on and waited for the inevitable multiple matches.

* * *

Tony felt something in his right ear, and he tried automatically to brush it away. His right arm wouldn't move, it was held between his side and what felt like a leg. It didn't make sense in his beleaguered mind. A firm hand took hold of his left wrist and pressed it back against a soft surface. A gentle voice spoke close to his left ear. "Quiet, Tony, I'm just taking your temperature."

He finally got his eyes opened. Light stabbed them, but he found he was looking very closely at a shock of curly hair and a brown eye. Peter. Reluctantly, he stopped trying to remove the object from his ear, and Peter released his wrist and sat back. "That's better, Tony, isn't it?" he asked.

Tony blinked at him. He coughed as minimally as he could, trying to avoid the wracking pain true coughing caused in his chest. A beep sounded in his ear and he winced. Peter removed the thermometer and read it. "You didn't eat your soup," he said noncommittally.

"Lola practically spat in it," Tony said, and he couldn't believe how petulant he sounded. "I wasn't hungry anyway."

"You can't get better if you don't eat, Tony," Peter said, stroking Tony's cheek. "When did you last have your cough syrup?"

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. "Not sure." He had to pause for a fit of coughing, and this time he didn't manage to get away with faking himself out. He was shaking by the end of it, and clutching the blankets. "Only took it once," he managed to gasp out.

"Well, then, it's time for some more," Peter said. "Lola, see if you can get some antibiotics from one of your friendly druggists."

As she agreed and left the room, Tony wondered how it was that he had failed to notice her presence up till then. Peter held some syrup out to him on a spoon Tony swallowed, feeling ridiculously helpless. Breathing shallowly, he managed to speak without coughing. "Why don't I think you mean legitimate pharmacies?" he asked.

"Oh, some of them are," Peter said. "More or less." He pressed a cold cloth to Tony's forehead, then picked up a tray, resting it on his lap. "Now, I've got some fresh soup, and Lola has never touched the spoon or the bowl. If you're worried that it's poisoned, I brought an extra spoon for a taste test, so you won't have to worry about my saliva either." Tony looked at him blankly. Apparently taking that for assent, he scooped up some soup and tried to feed Tony.

Tony started to protest that he could feed himself, but in his incredulity took in a deeper breath than was wise. He started to cough and wound up curled into a ball on his side before the paroxysms subsided. He had his back to Peter, but he could feel the other man stroking his back gently. He took a careful breath and said, "I can feed myself."

"Very well, but I'm going to sit right here and make sure."

So Tony ate most of a bowl of chicken soup under Peter's watchful eye. His stomach woke up and declared its independence from his appetite the minute the soup hit, and he managed to get most of it down before he started falling asleep again. Peter took the tray away and put aside, coming back to sit next to Tony on the bed. He took Tony's hand and smoothed the hair away from his brow.

"Do you have any idea how creepy you are?" Tony asked, his mouth losing all connection to the common sense areas of his brain.

"Creepy, Tony?" Peter said chidingly. "I'm just concerned about your health and welfare."

"I want to go home," Tony replied pathetically, and he couldn't believe he was being so frank. "Does that cough syrup have codeine?"

"It does," Peter replied. "Is that a problem?"

Tony blinked. It was a problem only in that pain medications tended to make Tony say whatever came into his head, and that was really not a good idea right now. "Just wondering," Tony said. Another fit of coughing took him, and he rolled on his side again. Peter began stroking his back again. Tony was reasonably sure it was meant to be soothing, but he didn't find it soothing to be lying naked in a bed, coughing his lungs out, while being cared for by a man who had kidnapped him and whose plans were . . . he shuddered slightly.

"Let's get these blankets tucked up nice and tight. When I came in you'd kicked them off entirely." Tony swallowed convulsively, and his abused throat protested the movement vehemently. "I've got to go now," Peter said, and he kissed Tony on the back of the head. "If you wake up and you need something, just wave towards the TV. Someone will be along to look after you." After resting his hand briefly on Tony's head, Peter left the room. Tony tried to think about his situation, tried to plan some kind of escape, but before he could think past the fact that he was alone, he fell back into a fretful sleep, dreaming of Peter chasing him from room to room of his apartment, making sly innuendos but never quite catching him. They were both naked, and Tony's imagination had endowed Peter alarmingly well.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I keep spacing and not posting here at the same time as on FF.net. Please forgive the oversight.

When Fornell and Gibbs arrived at Denise Rimbauer's hospital room, they found a woman waiting in a chair outside. She was crocheting with profound determination, and Gibbs thought he could see a glitter of tears in her eyes. She had similar features to the woman in the photograph, but she was heavier and possibly a little younger. When she looked up and saw them approaching, her expression grew resigned. "Cops?" she asked. "Are you here for Denise?"

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," Gibbs said holding out his hand. She put her crochet aside in a well-used project bag and stood up, taking his hand in a firm handshake. "This is Special Agent Fornell, FBI."

Her eyes widened as she turned to Fornell. "Two different agencies?" she said. "That can't be good. What's she done now?"

"Why do you assume it's about something she's done?" Fornell asked.

She sighed. "Because it's always something Denise has done," she said. "I've already answered a half a dozen questions for the police."

"Unfortunately, we're going to have to take you through some of them again," Fornell said. "I'm sorry, but it can't be helped."

She shrugged. "I hope we can do it here, because I don't want to leave her."

Fornell gestured towards the seat next to her and they sat down side by side. Gibbs remained standing as he watched Fornell handle the interview. "May I ask who you are . . . your connection to Miss Rimbauer?"

"Marcia Collins," she said. "Denise is my sister."

Fornell made a note and nodded. "All right, what can you tell us about what your sister's been doing over the last several weeks?"

Collins shook her head. "Not a lot, I'm afraid. I asked her not to tell me stuff, but she did babble sometimes. It was impossible to stop her, but I told her I'd turn her in if she told me about anything illegal, so she would be all coy about details."

"You told her you'd turn her in?"

"She got our youngest brother into serious trouble a while back. Mom had to bail him out a couple of times, and we finally convinced him to go into the army to get him away from her. That was five years ago, in 2000." She grimaced. "He wound up in Afghanistan. He died in 2003."

Both men nodded. That could cause a rift in a family. "So, you don't know anything about what she was doing?"

"All I know is that she was looking forward to a big payday. She said she was working with some high rollers and she'd be able to buy us all big presents for Christmas." Collins shrugged. "I told her high rollers didn't sound like her style and she got mad at me, said she was meant for big things. I'm glad Mom wasn't here to hear about her getting shot and left for dead in an alley." Gibbs would have thought she sounded cold but for the pain in her eyes.

"Did she mention any names?"

"Well, there was Aaron, but there was always Aaron," Collins said.

"Aaron Thornburg?" Gibbs asked.

She shrugged. "I've never heard his whole name," she said. "Big guy, buff and full of attitude."

Gibbs fished out a photo. "This him?"

"Yeah," she said, peering at it. "So, Aaron . . . and Tommy something. She made a big deal about him being a college football star, but I figured he was just feeding her a line of crap, you know how it can be. This Tommy had a friend named Tony, and Tony had money, but after she said that, she got kind of cagey. I figured that's where the illegal stuff came in." Gibbs nodded to himself. It certainly was.

A couple of people in scrubs came out with some equipment. "Mrs. Collins? We're done with the procedure now."

"Thank you," Collins said. Glancing at Fornell for permission, she gathered her things and went into the room.

"Gibbs and Fornell, working together? That must be interesting." Gibbs looked and saw Lt. Timmons of DC Metro coming down the hall. "What's your interest in this case?"

Before Gibbs could speak, Fornell said, "I'm asserting jurisdiction."

"On what grounds?" Timmons asked, his lazy tone not fooling either of the other men. If he didn't think the grounds were sufficient, he'd fight them tooth and nail, and he might just obstruct them on general principles. Gibbs would plow him under if he tried that on this case.

"On the grounds that Miss Rimbauer was involved in the abduction of a federal agent," Fornell said.

"What evidence is there of that?"

"Did you ask her sister what she was involved with?" Gibbs asked mildly. He could see that his tone fooled Timmons as little the police officer's tone had fooled him.

"Yeah, she spun me a tale about some guys named Aaron, Tommy and Tony and big bucks, but she didn't have any details."

"Yeah," Fornell said. "It appears that at least four people conspired to kidnap a federal agent. Aaron Thornburg, Thomas Alkire, someone named Peter, and Denise Rimbauer."

"Aaron and Tommy, huh?" Timmons said, giving them a fishy look. "What else do you have that links her to your case?"

"Thomas Alkire was killed with the same gun she was shot with," Gibbs said. "Less than a day later. And we've recovered the weapon."

"What about Tony whoever with . . ." Timmons paused for a moment. "I didn't know DiNozzo had money," he said after a moment.

"He doesn't," Gibbs replied. "His father does."

"Ransom?" Gibbs nodded. "Tough break. Hope you find the body. It can be rough when –"

Gibbs turned towards Timmons with a level glare. "DiNozzo's not dead!" he growled.

"Come on, Gibbs," Collins exclaimed. "You don't kidnap a federal agent and let him live, and your guys have already killed once and tried a second time."

"We've got what we came for, Tobias," Gibbs said and turned away. He heard Fornell instruct Timmons to see to it that DC Metro passed their evidence, every iota of it, over to the FBI within the hour, then follow after him.

He was pissed. His mood wasn't improved by the fact that he knew Fornell secretly agreed with Timmons on the likelihood of Tony's death. Their arguments made sense, and no one had even pointed out that a sick prisoner was even more of a liability. It didn't matter. He simply knew that DiNozzo wasn't dead, and he didn't feel like discussing the issue. Not with Fornell. Not with Jenny, who had hinted at the same possibility. Certainly not with Timmons.

DiNozzo was alive. For now. They just had to move quickly enough to make sure he stayed that way.

* * *

Lola shook her head as she fixed dinner. DiNozzo was in a bad way, and if Peter wasn't careful, the toy he'd so painstakingly acquired for himself was going to die of natural causes. She gave the soup a stir as it continued to simmer and checked the timer. The casserole could come out soon.

"Why don't we just kill him?" Butch asked.

"It's not happening, Butch," she said, turning around to lean against the stove. "Let it go."

"He's a federal agent, and at the rate this is going, he's going to die anyway. It's not like we were ever letting him go after he saw all our faces, so why are we keeping him alive? His daddy knows we have him, he's spoken to him. Once we get the money, he's dead anyway, so why not cut him loose a few days early?"

"Peter doesn't want to," Lola said. For her that was all the answer that was required.

Butch rolled his eyes. "Peter doesn't know everything, Lola. I don't get why you just do everything he says."

"Because she knows what happens to people who don't do everything I say," Peter said from the doorway. She hadn't heard him approach, but she was used to that.

Butch jumped and turned. "Don't do that, man!" he exclaimed. "Anyways, I don't get it. We're not going to let him go, so we might as well kill him now as later."

"There is a third option," Peter said mildly. "Lola, is that your Italian sausage casserole I smell?" She snorted and got into the fridge for the shredded cheese. "I'll have to take some to Tony later."

"What do you mean, a third option?" Butch demanded. "Kill him or let him go. What else is there?"

Peter smiled, and Lola knew he had it bad this time. "I plan to keep him. Lola, would you let me know when the casserole is done. I've got some DVDs to sort."

"Sure, Peter," she said and watched him leave the room. "You'd better let up on this, Butch."

"What does he mean, keep him?"

"Haven't you picked up on it yet? Look at that room he's got him in. You could keep someone in there for a long time and no one would be the wiser. Hell, you could have the sheriff himself to dinner, and he'd never know you had a prisoner upstairs unless you showed him."

"A serious search would find him," Butch pointed out.

"Which is why we don't give anyone a reason to make a serious search." She sighed. "If you want to keep working with Peter," she said, "you want to keep on his good side. And you haven't earned the right to question him yet."

"Maybe I don't want to keep working with Peter."

Her brows went up. "I would avoid thinking like that if I were you, Butch," she said.

"I hate that name."

"You think I chose Lola?" she asked. "Get over it. It doesn't mean anything."

He glowered and looked around. "This is the weirdest damned set up. I've never been with a gang who set up house like this. I mean, he's sorting DVDs for reasons I don't get, and you're cooking dinner like a good little wifey."

She shrugged. Gang? "Someone has to cook, and I like it," she said. "Besides, I don't want to eat Peter's cooking."

"Does he suck?"

"I don't honestly know. It's just that, knowing Peter, I'd never be sure all the ingredients were kosher."

"You're not Jewish," he said, and Lola rolled her eyes.

"In some ways, we're all Jewish, Butch," she said.

"I don't get it."

"Why don't you get some plates down?" she suggested.

"This is nuts!" he said, but he pulled the plates down. "Next thing you're going to ask is for me to set the table."

"I don't want to eat with you. I just didn't think you wanted to eat off your hands." She pulled the casserole out and made up two plates. Butch made up his own plate and sat down at the kitchen table while she was getting silverware for Peter and herself.

She went up the stairs to the room where Peter was carefully placing DVDs into an enormous changer so that Tony would have something to watch if he didn't want what was on TV. Meanwhile, he was keeping an eye on DiNozzo on the four monitors he'd placed in the walls of the room. It was bizarre, but Peter was an eccentric man. His obsessions were unpredictable and could be scary. This one, for example, had come up out of nowhere. Tommy had worked a couple of jobs with them, and then he'd suggested that he knew a guy with a rich father who might be of use. Peter had deprecated the idea initially, but said he would do some observations and see what he thought. He'd come back from one day spent watching DiNozzo with a determination to get hold of him. Neither Butch nor Tommy had recognized the light in his eyes – they hadn't known him long enough – and Lola hadn't seen fit to enlighten them.

She left the plate on the side table next to Peter. She was at the door when Peter spoke. "Close the door and have a seat," he said. It was an order, not a suggestion, so she did as he wanted her to. She began to eat her own dinner. "Tell me, Lola, what do you think of Butch?"

She considered the question carefully for several moments. "I don't believe he'll work out in the long term," she said with mild regret.

"Can we let him go?"

"Well, he knows nothing about either of us personally. The only thing he does know is the location of this house. How important is that?"

"Tony's here," Peter said.

"We could move him," she said diffidently.

"It will take time to come up with another location that's even half as suitable," he said, gazing around at the room. "Wealthy, paranoid recluses build such perfect houses. I don't really want to give it up."

"Well, then, that's your answer," she said. Movement on the screens caught their attention, and Peter was on his feet before she'd fully registered that DiNozzo had kicked all his blankets off again. She stayed where she was. Peter could handle his chained federal agent on his own. Between the fever and the coughing, DiNozzo was more of a hindrance to himself than to Peter.

Peter entered the room scolding gently, and she watched curiously. She'd never seen him quite like this. He seemed almost fond of DiNozzo, not just fascinated by him.

DiNozzo coughed for a bit, then rolled over and looked around. "Where's Lola?" he asked.

"She's not here, Tony," Peter said.

"Didn't think she was here last time, but she was," Tony pointed out.

Peter had gotten the covers fixed again and now he sat down beside Tony. "Well, she's not here this time."

DiNozzo's head lolled on the pillow and he began to speak in an oddly syncopated rhythm. "Whatever Lola wants . . . Lola gets . . ."

Peter laughed out loud. "Very perceptive, Tony. Now, attractive as the scenery is, you need to keep these blankets up."

"Hot."

"You certainly are, but you'll make yourself sick if you let yourself get too cold."

DiNozzo pushed the blankets off again, baring his assets before Peter and all four cameras. Lola was amused. The man would die of embarrassment if he weren't nearly delirious. He rolled over on his side and began to cough up a lung.

"Lola!" Peter called sharply. "Get me some aspirin and the new cough syrup."

She rose and fetched the drugs he was asking for. It might be kinder to put DiNozzo out of his misery. It wasn't as if they could fetch him a doctor. Nevertheless, she wasn't about to suggest it. He was Peter's pet, and Peter would make his own decisions. DiNozzo hadn't stopped coughing when she got there, and she shook her head. "Peter, we need to get him sitting up," she said. "He can't clear his lungs in that position."

Between them, they got DiNozzo upright, and his coughs subsided gradually. She fed him a couple of aspirin for his fever and gave him a dollop of cough syrup. He looked at her suspiciously. "You said Lola wasn't here," he said to Peter in a voice that sounded like sandpaper.

"She wasn't then, but I sent for her."

"Oh." After that he settled down and went back to sleep. He was burning like fire, and she was concerned about the coughing. Still, it wasn't her problem.

"Keep Butch out of trouble," Peter said. "I'm going back to the monitor room."

Lola nodded and went back downstairs. Butch was sitting in the kitchen, but he seemed faintly out of breath. She'd left the door to the monitor room open, so he might have taken the opportunity to peek. If so, he would definitely have to go. Nosy bastards tended towards blackmail, and she wouldn't play that game. Not with anyone. Then Butch started coughing.

"Damn DiNozzo anyway," he growled. "He gave me his cold."

She set on a kettle to boil. Both DiNozzo and Butch could use a spot of tea. And if DiNozzo's cold was spreading, Peter would undoubtedly have it before long.


	13. Chapter 13

It was Wednesday morning, if barely, and DiNozzo hadn't been seen for more than forty-eight hours. Gibbs was ready to strangle the next person who hinted that the man might be dead. Even Ducky had started his 'we should be prepared' speech. Ziva kept giving him surreptitious worried looks, like she thought he was fooling himself. Abby was demanding constant reassurance that DiNozzo was still out there to find. He gave it willingly, but it didn't bespeak confidence on her part. Only McGee was with him one hundred percent, and that was part habit, part lack of experience.

DiNozzo senior had finally been persuaded to go to a room in the guest barracks. Gibbs couldn't decide if his apparent anxiety was really about image or if he used all of that to conceal his real feelings about his son. According to Jenny, he'd spent a fair amount of time babbling about how DiNozzo had shamed his family's name by getting thrown in prison, and how he was lowering himself by working for law enforcement. Even so, he hadn't slept in forty hours, he was ordering people to find his son, demanding results, and generally acting as if he gave a damn about Tony. Gibbs shook his head. It didn't really matter. What mattered was finding Tony, and finding him alive.

* * *

Wednesday passed in a blur. DiNozzo was getting worse and Peter was refusing to see it. Lola knew that Butch was ready to put a bullet in their captive's brain, and keeping an eye on him was driving her nuts. She spent much of the day pouring tea into DiNozzo, then helping him to the john. If he started needing a bedpan, she would quit.

Finally, she returned to the kitchen for a breather and found it empty. It was a relief, because every other time she'd gone down there, she'd found Butch just waiting to bitch about DiNozzo's continuing to breathe.

At half past seven, she heard a gunshot upstairs and looked up in shock. She grabbed the gun she kept handy and considered her options. Going upstairs didn't seem like her best bet. The kitchen had an exit and plenty of cover. She would wait here.

Slow footsteps on the stairs made her stiffen and straighten her back. It didn't sound like Peter, but it didn't sound like Butch either. The kitchen door opened, and Peter blinked at the bead she had taken on the door. His eyes that that faint light in them that she recognized as a muted form of his post-kill buzz. He glanced up to see the small red dot that hovered at roughly Butch's head height. "That unsure of who got whom?" he asked.

"No, just careful," she replied, holstering the gun. "He might have shot you then come downstairs to be sure of me before killing DiNozzo."

"Or he might have smothered DiNozzo, hoping to make it look like an accident. I caught him and he shot me."

"I think he's been in the monitor room," she replied. "He wouldn't be quite that stupid. Next time, more brains and less ambition."

"That seems reasonable," Peter replied.

"How's DiNozzo?"

"The same, but I think there's some blood on the sheets. Butch waited till I went to the bathroom, so when I got there he was at the foot of the bed."

Lola grimaced. "I'll get fresh sheets, then."

They took care of DiNozzo's room, and she gave the agent a quick sponge bath. He had blood spatter on his face and chest. Using the already stained sheets, they got Butch down the stairs and into the trunk of the car in the garage. "Great, we're going through partners and cars like it's going out of style, Peter. That'll be two cars and three people since Sunday."

"He'll keep," Peter said and left the garage. She followed him back to DiNozzo's room, where they found that the fresh sheets now had blood on them, and DiNozzo was still coughing.

"Maybe Butch will keep, but DiNozzo's dying," she said bluntly.

Peter nodded. "Wrap him up. We're taking him to the hospital."

"Are you crazy?" she said, and Peter turned to her, that light in his eyes again, and she took a deep breath. "I just mean we don't have the money yet."

"They won't have identified him by noon tomorrow, Lola," Peter said. "We'll see to that. We'll get the money, and I can get DiNozzo later."

She blinked and nodded, then set to carrying out his plan.

* * *

DiNozzo senior had arrived back in the bullpen at 0900 on Thursday, and Gibbs took him and Fornell down to Abby's lab. There they waited while Abby and McGee prepared to follow the money through its journey. DiNozzo crossed to Abby, and Gibbs realized that they hadn't yet met. "I believe my son has mentioned you to me," he said, and Gibbs was startled to learn this. "Abby Sciuto?" Abby nodded, wide-eyed. "He said you were one of the best friends he's ever had."

Abby blinked at him. "Wow," she said, and Gibbs could see the glint in her eyes from the emotions called up by Tony's father's words. She threw her arms around Mr. DiNozzo who looked stunned by this turn of events. "He's going to be fine," she assured him earnestly. "Gibbs will find him. He's the best there is."

"What are we doing here, Gibbs? What's the plan?" DiNozzo asked.

Gibbs took a deep breath. "McGee and Abby are going to do the best they can to follow the money when we do the transfer."

"Right," DiNozzo said. "How's that going to work?"

McGee pointed at the screen. "We've got half a dozen programs set to watching the bank account you're supposed to put the ransom money in. There are undoubtedly already instructions in place to forward all or parts of the money to other accounts."

"Of course," DiNozzo said, nodding. He pulled up a chair to sit between them.

"Well, we're going to follow it," Abby said eagerly. "That way we can tag and hopefully freeze the other accounts once we've got Tony back."

"I see."

He got into an in-depth discussion of techniques, and Gibbs stopped being able to follow it very quickly. "Coffee?"

He turned and found Joyce at his elbow. "Thank you," he said. Fornell raised his eyebrows. He hadn't been offered coffee.

"This must be driving you crazy," she said.

"Why do you say that?"

"From everything Tony's ever said about you, you're a man of action, and this isn't action."

Gibbs snorted, but before he could say anything, DiNozzo's phone rang. He grabbed it off his belt and looked at Gibbs. "Speaker," Gibbs said, walking up to him.

DiNozzo senior pressed the relevant button and said, "DiNozzo."

"Are you ready?" asked the reedy voice.

"You said we had till noon."

"It's noon somewhere," the voice said in strangely whimsical tone. "What difference does two hours make? Are you ready?"

Gibbs looked at McGee and Abby. They nodded. Gibbs gave DiNozzo a nod. "Yeah, I'm ready," DiNozzo said. "When will I get my son back?"

"You'll get a call today or tomorrow, only if I don't see that money in my account within the next ten minutes, that call will be from the coroner." There was a click.

"Initiate the transfer, Abby," DiNozzo said, and Gibbs blinked. She looked at him, and he okayed it. She bent to her computer and both she and McGee commenced clicking.

"It's there," McGee said after several seconds. "And the transfers are starting. Got it Abby?"

"Six into Asia," she said. "Taiwan . . . Thailand . . ." She trailed off, still focused hard on the screen.

"Four into South America," McGee said. "I've got . . . and . . ."

Five minutes passed, then Fornell said, "How long are we going to watch them talk to themselves?"

Gibbs just gave him a dour look. Five more minutes went by, then ten, and Gibbs wished he had something physical to do. Jenny and Ziva came down, and Ducky wandered in. Abby, McGee and DiNozzo never looked up. DiNozzo was watching the activities with a great deal more understanding than his son would have had.

Gibbs' phone rang and he stepped away, pulling it out and flipping it open. "Gibbs."

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS?" asked an unfamiliar voice with a faint southern accent.

"That's me," he said.

"This is Sheriff Greer in Wayne County, West Virginia. Your name's coming up on a BOLO for one Anthony L. DiNozzo."

"Yes," Gibbs said. His heart beat picked up and his mouth went dry.

"Your Agent DiNozzo is in the county hospital here, in ICU." Gibbs closed his eyes. ICU wasn't good, but it was a damned sight better than the morgue. "I put a guard on him last night when he came in because of the circumstances, and now I'm glad I did. I –"

"He came in last night?" Gibbs demanded.

"What is it, Jethro?" Jenny asked.

"What hospital?"

"Wayne County Hospital," Greer said.

"You're sure it's him?"

"Fingerprints seem to think so. I've sent a photo to the e-mail address on your BOLO."

"McGee!" Gibbs snapped.

"Yes Boss?"

"Whose e-mail did you put on the BOLO?"

"Mine, Boss."

"Call it up. There's a photo I need to see."

"I got yours, too, McGee," Abby said, and DiNozzo senior shifted forward as McGee got up and went to another computer.

Gibbs followed and waited impatiently. Jenny and Joyce came up beside him. "Tony!" McGee exclaimed as the image came up on the screen, head only. DiNozzo looked terrible, his eyes sunken, his skin pale, his brow beaded with sweat, but it was definitely DiNozzo.

DiNozzo. Alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more coming! We're only a little over halfway through.


	14. Chapter 14

Gibbs gazed at the photograph for a long moment, then turned away and spoke into the phone. "That's him. We'll be there as soon as we can. What's the number so I can call the hospital directly?" He wrote it down, then hung up. When he turned he found the eyes of the whole room on him, all except Abby and McGee, who had returned to money tracking duty. Their attention, however, was split. "DiNozzo's been in a hospital in Wayne County since last night," he said, his voice seeming unnaturally calm in his own ears. "McGee, Abby, get that money back now." He turned to the director. "Jenny, that's a six-hour drive."

"I'll see if I can swing a helicopter."

"If you can't, I can," DiNozzo said.

"McGee, Abby, stay on the money. Ziva, Ducky, with me." Jenny was already on the phone in the elevator and by the time they reached the bullpen, she had a chopper landing at the helipad in five minutes. "Grab your go bag, Ziva," Gibbs ordered. "Ducky . . ."

Before he could finish Palmer ran up with a nylon duffel bag. "Dr. Mallard, is this what you wanted?"

"It is, indeed, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said, taking it. "Thank you."

Gibbs grabbed his own bag and dialed a number he'd had McGee program on speed dial for him. Dr. Pitt answered and Gibbs said, "We've found DiNozzo. Where are you?"

"On my way," Pitt said. "You only called me ten minutes ago. It's going to be a long drive, but –"

"Where are you?" Gibbs demanded, his voice a little more harsh.

"Maybe ten minutes from Bethesda. I had to grab –"

"Go back. We'll pick you up in twenty minutes. Be ready on the helipad."

"Helipad? I – why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Now is not the time for discussion, doctor," Gibbs snapped, wondering who the hell had called earlier.

"Right."

"Twenty minutes or less. The clock is ticking."

They reached the chopper and Gibbs turned to Jenny. "When he's got a minute, get McGee to dump Dr. Pitt's cell records. Someone called him ten minutes ago and told him where DiNozzo was."

"Son of a . . ." She cut off the emotional reaction and nodded. "Go. Keep me posted."

There were seats for eight in the chopper, and Gibbs made sure everyone was belted in and all the luggage was stowed before he gestured for the pilot to take them up. The flight to Bethesda was short and when they landed, Pitt was waiting. He climbed in and got settled in no time and they were on their way again. "Agent Gibbs, Dr. Mallard," he said. "It's a pleasure to see you both again, though I wish it was under better circumstances."

Gibbs nodded, and Ducky took it upon himself to make introductions. Ziva, Fornell, the DiNozzos. They had the usual brief discussion about the doctor bearing no relationship to the actor of the same name, then Pitt turned to Gibbs. "What do you know about his condition?"

"Not a lot," Gibbs said. "Who called you?"

Pitt stared at him. "I thought it was you. It was very garbled and hard to understand, but I heard your name, Tony's, and the hospital's name. I called them and told them I was coming, and got an update on his condition."

Gibbs waited for a moment. "Well?"

"If it wasn't you who called me, who was it?"

"We're working on it. What is DiNozzo's condition?" Pitt broke into a string of medical jargon. Gibbs held up a hand quickly before he was forced to strangle the man. "English, please, doctor."

"He's in the ICU," Pitt said. "From what they said, it sounds like he's got a bad case of pneumonia complicated by the damage to his lungs. They've already got him on a ventilator. I won't know more until I get there and review their test results. They don't have any experts in bioweaponry, so they –"

"Bioweaponry!" DiNozzo exclaimed. "Are you saying the kidnappers exposed him to something?"

Pitt shook his head and answered with more patience than Gibbs would have shown if he'd been able to speak. "No, sir, it's the remnants of the plague. He can't have a true relapse because the y-pestis had a suicide gene, but his lungs suffered severe scarring. The bioweaponry angle isn't all that relevant, truthfully, but it alarmed the local doctors immensely. I'm glad I'll be there sooner."

Gibbs nodded and sat back. It sounded like DiNozzo would be fine. He'd have no need to order him to live.

When they landed in West Virginia, Ducky and Pitt were met by the doctors. Gibbs let them go on ahead, and ordered Ziva to supplement whatever guard Sheriff Greer had put on DiNozzo. Gibbs and Fornell had their very own welcoming committee in the shape of Sheriff Greer. Gibbs was glad that the DiNozzos followed Ducky and Ziva.

"I'm Gibbs and this is Agent Fornell, FBI." Greer nodded to Fornell. "What happened, Sheriff?" he asked.

"That's a peculiar story, Agent Gibbs." Greer followed after the doctors and parents. Gibbs and Fornell walked with him. "Last night at around 2300 hours, a woman came running into the emergency room shrieking that her boyfriend wasn't breathing right. She led them out to a car, a blue '98 Honda Civic, and then, during the confusion of getting the man out of the back of the car, she disappeared. No one knew her, no one knows what happened to her, and she was wearing a hoodie so the security cameras didn't get much more than her chin."

"We'll want those recordings," Fornell said.

"Of course. So, they get him inside, and he's wearing a bathrobe and a blanket and nothing else, but in the pocket of the bathrobe is this note."

Gibbs took the plastic evidence bag from Greer and pulled his glasses out of his pocket so he could read the note. "These are drug names?" he asked, pointing to the Latinate forms on the top of the paper. Greer nodded. The rest of it read, "Severe pulmonary scarring." Gibbs handed it off to Fornell.

"They took x-rays and treated him accordingly, but I've got to wonder what kind of kidnappers drop their captive off at a hospital and give the caregivers information about his condition."

"I've got to wonder about kidnappers who essentially release their victim before they've got the ransom," Gibbs said, and Greer's brows went up. "They moved the drop time up two hours, but that's it. You may have a leak in your department because the call came in not fifteen minutes before yours did."

Gibbs half-expected Greer to growl at him, but he just gazed at him for a moment. "I'm looking into it," he said. "The papers around here always know more than they should, but this should narrow down the search because only a few people knew his identity."

"It may just have taken knowing you ran the fingerprints," Gibbs said. "Anything else before I get to my man?"

"Your man? Isn't this your investigation?"

"Technically it's his," Gibbs said, pointing a thumb at Fornell.

"Technically it's a joint investigation," Fornell said. "But the FBI is taking lead."

"Regardless, DiNozzo's my senior field agent. Is there anything else?"

"Once they got him stable, they realized that the woman was missing and they had time to look him over for problems other than the pneumonia. He'd clearly been beaten fairly thoroughly in the last few days, and he has ligature marks on both his wrists and his ankles."

Fornell nodded. "We've got video of some of that. It's not pretty."

Greer looked startled. "Well, with that evidence, they called us in. We took a look at the car and found two curious things. One, there wasn't a fingerprint on the damned thing, anywhere. If you look on the video, you can see the woman was wearing gloves. Two, there was a body in the trunk."

Gibbs and Fornell both stopped dead. "A body?" Fornell said. "What did he look like?"

"Big guy, dark hair," Greer said. Gibbs reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo of Thornburg. "Yeah, that's him. How'd you know?"

Gibbs looked at Fornell and they both took off towards where the DiNozzos, Ziva and the doctors were turning the corner up ahead. They reached the windowed room of the ICU and looked in to see DiNozzo lying motionless on a bed, his chest rising falling at a rhythmic, mechanical pace. He was pale and alarmingly still, but they were undoubtedly keeping him sedated.

The two agents and the sheriff drew aside after Gibbs had taken a long look at DiNozzo. "Has the body been examined yet?" Fornell asked.

"County coroner is on the other end of the county at the moment. She's due back tomorrow morning."

"Ducky?" Gibbs called. Ducky excused himself and came over.

"What is it, Jethro?"

"We've got another body for you. How did he die, Sheriff?"

"Gunshot wound to the head."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Ducky asked. "High caliber bullet?"

"Forty-four, forty-five, thereabouts."

"Damn it!" Gibbs muttered. There went the last person they had a real handle on.

"What is it?" Greer asked.

"We had him identified and were hoping he'd be able to lead us to his accomplices," Fornell said. "Now we're back at square one."

"Not quite, Tobias," Gibbs said. "We've got DiNozzo."

"If he lives." Gibbs hauled off and gave Fornell a smack on the back of the head. "Sorry," Fornell said, giving Gibbs an alarmed look. "Don't know what I was thinking."

"Neither do I," Gibbs said. "You want Ziva to help you with the car until some of your guys can get here?"

"Sure," Fornell replied, still looking at him warily.

"Do I take it you all are taking over my investigation?" Greer asked. He seemed vaguely alarmed by the interplay between the two agents.

"Yes," Fornell said instantly. "I'll take any evidence you may have collected and if you would please give Dr. Mallard access to the body?"

"Of course."

Gibbs walked back over and ordered Ziva to go with Fornell. Dr. Pitt was talking to a local guy and the DiNozzos were listening with earnest noncomprehension. Gibbs waited through a few more back and forths and then said, "And the upshot?"

Pitt turned towards him. "His condition is serious, but there's no reason to think he won't make a full recovery. I've got to look at some more test results, and there's a few tests I want to make myself, but I'd say he's very lucky."

"Can we go in?" Joyce asked.

"I'd like to do an examination first, Mrs. DiNozzo," Pitt replied. "After that it should be fine. Dr. Abrams?"

"I agree. This way, Dr. Pitt." They went through a door and a moment later Dr. Abrams pulled a curtain across to give DiNozzo at least minimal privacy.

"I'd say it's kind of weird," Sheriff Greer said. Gibbs turned to him in mild surprise. "I've got a deputy picking your people up to take them to our morgue," he said. "But tell me, Gibbs, how sure are you that your man isn't involved in this?"

"Are you suggesting that my son was involved in his own abduction?" DiNozzo senior asked, and Gibbs bridled at both men. He wasn't sure how DiNozzo senior would jump, and he was ready to lay them both out if they continued in this vein.

"It's not unheard of. I mean, do you give him any kind of allowance?"

"He's a grown man," Tony's father said. "He has gainful employment. Of course, I don't give him an allowance. He hasn't had an allowance since he was twelve."

"Plenty of rich kids feel like their parents owe them something. It's just . . . he was released before the ransom was paid and he was brought to a hospital. Even you seem surprised by that, Gibbs."

DiNozzo seemed to swell in indignation. "Number one, Anthony has a sizable trust left him by his grandmother, and that's on top of his job. He doesn't want for money. Number two, he has a profound sense of justice that would not countenance thievery or extortion. Number three, he knows full well that if he joined the family business, I would fund anything he wanted to do."

"Hey, it's just a possibility."

"No, it's not, and if you knew the first thing about my son you would know that. Incompetent, ignorant idiot. If I hear so much as a rumor of that scurrilous allegation, I will sue you, your department, and I will see to it that you lose your next election."

Sheriff Greer muttered some apologies and walked away. "What did he mean you were surprised, Gibbs?" DiNozzo demanded.

"It's kind of an odd thing for a kidnapper to do," Gibbs said mildly.

"Yes, it is," Joyce said. "Behave, Leonard." She walked over to the nurse's station, leaving the two men alone in front of the window.

"Ten years ago, I wasn't important enough in finance or the business community for my son's refusal to follow in the family business to make news. Now, all it would take would be a misstep on either of our parts for him to become front page chatter on the gossip pages. A rumor like that getting out . . . it would be devastating." Gibbs nodded mutely. "Trust is important in my business, I'm sure you understand that." Gibbs blinked. He'd thought the word 'devastating' referred to the effect the rumor could have on DiNozzo's son, not DiNozzo. "Furthermore, I suspect it would be fatal to Anthony's career."

Gibbs wasn't sure where he found his voice or how he kept his cool, but he managed it. "I thought you didn't approve of his career."

"I don't." DiNozzo looked at Gibbs frankly. "I have nothing against law enforcement, per se, though it isn't a career a DiNozzo should be engaging in, but, nevertheless, I don't want him to leave it because he's forced to. I want him to realize that following in his father's footsteps is worthier than leaving his family behind."

Gibbs didn't have anything civil to say to that, so he left it alone. Somehow, though, he didn't think that a man who forgot and left his son alone in another state had much to say about 'leaving family behind,' but engaging in a debate with him would not benefit anyone.

As soon as the doctors came out, Gibbs strode in. DiNozzo looked better than he had with the plague, but worse than he had when he'd come back in to work too early afterwards.

"I've never seen him look so ill," DiNozzo senior said in a hushed voice.

"I have," Gibbs replied.

DiNozzo sank into the chair beside the bed, gazing at Tony. "He looked worse than this?" Gibbs nodded without speaking, settling into a chair on the opposite side of the bed, away from most of the equipment and the IV tree. He'd spent a lot more time at DiNozzo's hospital bedside than his father had, and he knew the ropes. "Are you staying?"

"I am," Gibbs replied.

"There's no need."

"We're doing our level best to get that money back," Gibbs said mildly. "That could anger the kidnappers."

"Wouldn't a guard be outside the room?" DiNozzo asked pointedly.

Gibbs looked up. "I'm staying," he said. His tone was implacable, and he wasn't giving an inch. Nor was he about to engage in an argument with the man that would get them both kicked out. If DiNozzo wanted to pitch a fit, that was his right, but Gibbs wasn't going to play.

Though disgruntled, DiNozzo senior didn't seem to want to pursue the matter either. Gibbs used the bedside phone to call Abby to find out where they stood on the money recovery. "Gibbs, how's Tony?" she said before he'd gotten more than his identity out.

"He's sedated and on a ventilator," he replied. "He'll recover. Where are we?"

"So far we've gotten nine million back, and we're still working. Is he safe? Are you with him?"

"Right next to him, Abby."

"Tell him we're all pulling for him," she said.

"He's sedated."

"You never know what he can hear."

"You got anything else for me, Abbs?"

"Ziva's sending back some evidence, she says, but obviously I don't have it yet. I thought I could come out and see Tony when we've finished with the money."

"We've got to find out where these kidnappers are, Abbs. They could come back after him."

"You're with him, right?"

"Call me through the hospital if there's any more news." With that he hung up. "They've recovered nine million so far," he said.

DiNozzo Senior blinked at him. "I hadn't even thought about that since we got here," he said, sounding stunned. "But . . . nine million, you say?"

"They're still working on it," Gibbs replied.


	15. Chapter 15

McGee walked hastily through the hospital hallways. He and Jimmy had driven out together in Ducky's truck, and he was now in a position to state that Jimmy knew how to take directions if they were given to him by a competent navigator. He'd suspected as much before, but Ducky was always so eloquent on the subject of Palmer's tendency to get them lost that he hadn't been absolutely sure. He had decided that if he were ever driving Ducky anywhere, he would acquire turn by turn directions ahead of time.

In the meantime, he wanted to see for himself that Tony didn't actually look as corpse-like as he had in the sheriff's photograph. Joyce DiNozzo's presence outside a window gave him the final clue he needed, and he walked up beside her, just slightly nervous. She intimidated him in the way that all attractive women did, and she had the added factor of being wealthy and well dressed.

"Agent McGee," she said with a smile of greeting. "Tony's in there."

He nodded and peered in the window. Tony lay on his back on the bed, his upper body slightly elevated, and McGee could see that he was still on the ventilator. He shivered slightly at the sight, but Tony was alive and would recover fully. He hoped. Gibbs said so, though, so it must be true. Gibbs and Tony's father were both in the room with him. "Why aren't you in there?"

"Two is more than enough, I'd say," she replied. "And of the three of us, they have the best right. Agent David is working with Agent Fornell."

"Officer David," McGee corrected without thinking, and he flushed when she turned to look at him. "Sorry, ma'am, but she's actually a Mossad officer, not an NCIS agent."

"I see. I remember Tony telling me that." She sighed. "Tony has spoken of you as well," she said.

"He has?" McGee said, a little distressed. The kinds of things he could see Tony telling his stepmother about him were not good.

"Don't look so embarrassed. It was nothing too terrible. Everyone has to be new at one point or another." Her smile was friendly, but McGee could feel himself blushing. "If it's any consolation, I think he admires your integrity. He said you were innately honest."

"Really?" McGee wasn't sure he believed that.

"Well, being Tony, he said it a mocking tone, but I've been married to his father for a number of years, and I speak DiNozzo." McGee wasn't sure what to make of this confidence, but she put a hand on his shoulder with a gentle smile. "He doesn't tell mean stories about you, Agent McGee, and he talks about you enough that I'd say he likes you."

McGee's eyes were caught by a gesture from Gibbs. He was pointing towards the doorway, and McGee remembered with a flash of panic that he had forgotten something in the truck. Gibbs came out into the hall. "Where are my files, McGee?"

"In Ducky's truck," McGee said. Gibbs glowered, and McGee grimaced, glancing at Tony again. "I'll give him a call and have him swing by here before they go."

"They will anyway," Gibbs replied, his glower seeming to diminish when he took in the direction of McGee's eyes. "Have you eaten?"

"Not since we left Washington."

"Go to the cafeteria. Ziva should still be there."

McGee nodded. As he walked away, he castigated himself mentally for forgetting the files.

* * *

"I thought you said Ziva was sending me evidence, Gibbs," Abby said without preamble when Gibbs called her at four in the morning.

"What are you talking about, Abby?" Gibbs asked. "She sent you evidence."

"No, she sent me a complete lack of evidence. Apart from what little the body left behind, there are no fingerprints, no DNA, no hair samples, no trace evidence at all. It's like they wore clean suits or followed after themselves with as much care as a good forensic technician would take. It's crazy, Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded grimly. "We knew they were good, Abby," he said.

"This isn't good, Gibbs, it's perfect, and I don't believe in perfect."

"Then find something we can use to nail these guys," he replied, and he hung up the phone. DiNozzo senior was in the bathroom, McGee was outside the room, Ziva had gone with Joyce to a hotel, with security augmented by a couple of the sheriff's men. Kidnappers had been known to go after a second target when thwarted, and they'd gotten back all but three million dollars of the ransom.

He returned to work on the files he'd had McGee bring him. It was a mixed collection of kidnapping cases, adults and children, mostly FBI files, though there were a few NCIS. He was looking for similarities, and while he knew there were computer searches that made these kinds of comparisons, he was old fashioned enough to think that some things couldn't be fully automated. Impressions did not pop out of a database the way they could from reading an investigator's notes.

Ducky and Palmer had gone back to NCIS, but Ducky promised to return as soon as he'd finished with the autopsy. Dr. Pitt was in and out. At the moment he was out, but they'd removed the tube late in the night, and the sedation was gradually wearing off. He'd been visiting frequently to make certain that Tony's breathing stayed reasonably easy.

Tony let out a sort of grunt, and Gibbs turned to look at him. His eyes weren't open, but Gibbs could see them moving under the eyelids. Suddenly they fluttered open, but Gibbs wasn't sure he was really awake. "Where . . ." he muttered, his voice harsh and slightly panicked. "What . . . I . . ."

"Hush, DiNozzo," Gibbs murmured, leaning over.

"Gibbs?" Tony said, his eyes flicking around as if he was looking for him.

Gibbs stood up and leaned close, chucking under the younger man's chin. "Yes, Tony, I'm here," he said. Eyes turned towards him, and a faint, relieved smile curved Tony's lips briefly, then all the tension went out of him and he fell back asleep.

Gibbs was still leaning over him when the bathroom door opened. "Did he wake up?" DiNozzo senior asked.

"For about a second," Gibbs said, sitting back down.

"What did he say?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Nothing, really. It wasn't coherent."

DiNozzo looked at him suspiciously, then sat down, picking up his laptop and getting back to work himself. They sat in silence with Tony between them, moving occasionally for the nurses who came in to check on their patient. Gibbs wondered how Tony would react to this image if he woke up in time to witness it.

Fornell was still working the case, he'd gotten some help from the Lexington office of the Bureau and was combing the area for any sign at all of where DiNozzo had been kept. No luck so far, and given the kidnappers' track record, Gibbs suspected they wouldn't have any at all. Abby still hadn't found anything useful, and that wasn't a good sign.

McGee brought them both fresh cups of coffee at regular intervals. Around eight-thirty, Tony stirred again, and this time his father was in the room. "Gibbs?" Tony murmured. Gibbs had been swallowing at that moment, so he couldn't immediately respond.

"Anthony," DiNozzo senior said. "Can you hear me?"

"Gibbs?!" Tony said, his voice growing more alarmed.

"I'm here, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, rising and leaning over the bed. "Go back to sleep." Tony nodded and drifted away again.

"Why did you tell him to sleep? Don't we need to talk to him?"

"I think it can wait till he's properly awake," Gibbs said, though internally he, too, was champing at the bit. He wanted to know what Tony had to tell them, but not at the risk of delaying Tony's recovery.

"Couldn't we wake him?" DiNozzo senior said just as the nurse came in.

"Wake him?" she repeated. "Heavens no, let him sleep."

"He just woke up," Tony's father said.

Her brows went up. "He'll be drifting in and out for a while as the sedatives wear off, but we want to let him wake naturally."

Gibbs nodded serenely, but DiNozzo senior looked frustrated. "I don't think you understand, young woman, he's been missing for several days, and we need to know what happened."

She shrugged. "His answers wouldn't make much sense anyhow," she replied. "And if you start trying to wake him up, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

DiNozzo senior began to go red in the face. It was Gibbs' inclination to let the man torpedo himself, but he was Tony's father. Tony might not appreciate it. "Mr. DiNozzo?" he said.

"What?" DiNozzo asked, his voice quiet but sharp.

"We can wait awhile longer. He's safe for the time being, what he has to tell us may not be of much help in actually finding the bastards, and he needs his rest."

The nurse nodded affirmation and she began to check Tony's vitals. Gibbs sat back and continued reading. He'd found a number of cases that interested him, but he couldn't be sure any of them actually had any connection to Tony's. Mr. DiNozzo was somewhat right. They still didn't even really know how Tony had been captured, which made judging MOs a little dicey. Anything that featured a target taken invisibly out of his or her life might fit, but there could be details that would narrow it down.

Nevertheless, Tony's health came first.


	16. Chapter 16

Beeping. Rhythmic. Quiet. Hospital. Tony floated for a while listening to the beeping. Hospital was good. Hospital was safe. Peter didn't have beeping machines or he'd have used them before now.

Tony's eyes flipped open. Peter. "Gibbs!" he exclaimed. His throat felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper, but he couldn't wait.

"Yeah, Tony?" Gibbs said.

"Where's Peter?"

"We don't have him," Gibbs said.

At the same moment, another voice spoke from the other side of the bed, "Everything's under control."

Tony turned in shock to look at a man he hadn't seen in over a year. "Father? What are you doing here?"

"How can you ask that, Anthony?"

Tony stared at his father, then shook his head, turning back. "What do you mean you don't have Peter?" he asked. "What about Lola?"

Gibbs shook his head. "I don't know that name."

"How did you get me, then?"

"I paid the ransom, son." Tony turned back towards his father, but he couldn't absorb it.

"That doesn't matter," he said, and his father's eyes widened. "He said . . . he told me he wasn't . . ." He turned back to Gibbs. "I saw their faces, Boss, and Peter said . . . Peter . . ." He realized that he was shaking, and he could feel his heart rate speeding up in time with the beeping. "He wasn't going to let me go."

"You're safe, Tony," Gibbs said. "He did let you go."

"But . . ." Tony shook his head. "He said . . . he . . . where am I?"

"Wayne County Regional Medical Center," said an unfamiliar female voice with a southern twang. Tony looked up. It would be so easy to slip Lola in as a nurse. He could feel his heart rate increasing. "You need to calm down, Mr. DiNozzo." She started looking over his numbers. Her name tag said Belinda.

"Tony," Tony said automatically. "Mr. DiNozzo's my dad." She glanced over and Tony remembered that his dad was sitting beside him. That was very weird. But now that he thought about it, not that shocking. A ransom had been paid. The money was what had gotten his dad down from Long Island. Ransom. Peter! "How did I wind up here? Where did he leave me?"

"You were left here, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"After the ransom was paid, he brought me to the hospital?" Tony asked, shaking his head. He'd seen all their faces. He knew for a fact that Butch wouldn't have gone for it even if Lola had. "But . . . Boss, that doesn't make sense."

Gibbs looked down at him with an odd expression. "Actually, they left you at the hospital the night before the ransom was paid."

Wayne County, she'd said. He started to ask which state, but then what Gibbs had said sank in. "Before?" He took in a deep breath and started coughing. The movement made his ribs and throat and lungs ache.

"Tony, quiet down," Belinda said in her soft southern drawl. He shook his head. There was no way Butch or Lola would have agreed to letting him go before the ransom was paid, and Peter . . . Peter didn't want to kill him so he wouldn't want him to die . . . which meant taking him to the hospital was about making sure he lived so Peter could find him again. Belinda had kept speaking soothingly, but now she said something that spiked his panic higher. "I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave. Tony seems to –"

"No!" Tony exclaimed. Gibbs was getting to his feet. He reached out and seized the sleeve of Gibbs' jacket. "Boss! Gibbs! Don't go!"

Slowly, Gibbs sank back into the chair, and Tony felt a reassuring pressure on his hand. "Not going anywhere, Tony," he said. "Relax. You need to calm down."

Tony gazed into his eyes, willing him to understand. "He's after me, Gibbs. He said he wanted to keep me."

"He let you go, DiNozzo," Gibbs pointed out.

"I know," Tony said, his breath coming short. "But there's no way the others would have gone for it." He heard Gibbs talking to Belinda, but he tugged on Gibbs' sleeve. "Butch would have killed me first."

"Who's Butch?" Gibbs asked. Belinda had gone, and Tony's father had come around the bed to stand behind Gibbs.

"Big guy," Tony said. "The one who beat me up on the video."

Gibbs dug in his pocket and held out a photograph of Butch. "This guy?"

"Yeah," Tony said, hope flaring. If they had Butch's picture, maybe they had something to go on to get Lola and Peter. "He'd have killed me before he let Peter let me go. He wanted to kill me when they moved me the first night."

"He's dead, Tony," Gibbs said, waving the picture. "This man is dead."

Tony stared at Gibbs for a long second, struggling to comprehend. "Butch is dead?" Suddenly, an image flashed on his mind's eye. Butch standing at the foot of the bed, a .38 in his hand, sighting down it at Tony's head. "Oh God," he muttered, half aware that he was speaking aloud. "Oh God. That's not good. Not good at all."

"What is it, Tony?" Gibbs asked.

"Butch was going to shoot me . . . I remember seeing him . . . he had a gun . . . and then there was a shot and it was like . . ." He covered his mouth with his hand.

"Tony, stay with me."

Tony looked up at Gibbs. "It was like warm rain," he said, and Gibbs' eyes widened. "I must have passed out because I don't remember anything after that." He still had his hand on Gibbs' shirt. "Gibbs, he wants me. Peter. He let me go so I wouldn't die."

"Tony?"

Tony turned to find Dr. Pitt coming into the room, Belinda just behind him. "Brad," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking after you," he said. "I thought I was going to be going home soon, but if you're going to work yourself up, I'll have to stick around."

"You don't understand," Tony said. "Peter's going to come back after me. He's going to want me back. He said he was going to keep me."

"Peter is not here, Tony," Dr. Pitt said. "You're safe, and you need your rest." He turned to Belinda and gave an order, and she hurried off.

"What does Peter look like?" Gibbs asked, and Tony saw Dr. Pitt give him a dark look, but he had a needle and was inserting it into the IV line.

He turned to Gibbs. "Peter MacNicol," he said. "He . . ." He rested his head against the pillow. "He looked like Peter MacNicol."

"And Lola?"

Tony had started drifting. "Whatever Lola wants . . . Lola gets . . . Peter has a warped sense of humor." He heard Gibbs speaking, but the drugs pulled him down into dreams of Peter's Lola dancing in the costume from the movie, using a pink taser for a prop.

* * *

Once Tony was asleep, Dr. Pitt beckoned Gibbs away from Tony. They didn't leave the room, but they moved off somewhat. Gibbs was aware of Leonard DiNozzo following him. "Agent Gibbs, what's been going on here?" Dr. Pitt demanded in an undertone. "You can't question a man in his state."

Gibbs grimaced, but before he could speak, DiNozzo senior went on the attack. "He couldn't have done anything else," Tony's father said.

"He didn't have to keep asking him questions," Dr. Pitt replied earnestly. "I understand that –"

"You don't understand much, young man," DiNozzo snapped. "How well do you know my son?"

"We have drinks together once in a while, and I see him whenever there's an issue about his lungs," Dr. Pitt said. "I don't know that I know him well, but what's your point?"

"He wasn't going to stop talking, doctor," DiNozzo said. "The combination of drugs and anxiety turn him into an unstoppable stream of words. At least by directing the stream, we got some use out of what he had to say."

Pitt gazed at him suspiciously for a moment, then turned to Gibbs. "Is that what you were doing? Directing the flow?"

Gibbs shrugged. "He seemed pretty panicked, and DiNozzo doesn't generally panic unless there's a reason, and drugs do make him more talkative." Pitt's brows rose. From Kate's complaints after their stay in the hospital together, Gibbs knew Pitt had an idea how much DiNozzo could talk. "Now, is anything you've got him on likely to stir up paranoia or delusions?"

Pitt shook his head. "And he's been on a lot of it before, when he was recovering from the plague, so we'd know."

Gibbs nodded. He stuck his head out the door. "McGee?" The young agent was dozing on a nearby sofa, though how he could manage it Gibbs wasn't sure. It looked like it had been designed by a sadist.

"Yes Boss?" McGee said, coming very nearly to attention.

"I need you to look two things up for me. I need a picture of Peter Nickel."

"MacNicol," DiNozzo senior said from behind him.

"Peter MacNicol," Gibbs corrected. "And I need you to look up the sentence 'Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets.' I don't know what it means, but it sounded like a quote."

"It is," DiNozzo said behind him. "McGee, look up _Damn Yankees_."

"Sure," McGee said, looking puzzled.

Gibbs closed the door and turned to Dr. Pitt. "How soon can he be released?"

"Released?" Pitt exclaimed, glancing over at the shallowly breathing man. "We're moving him out of ICU shortly, but he still needs observation."

"Can we move him to Bethesda?"

Pitt shook his head. "Not yet, though I will have to go back soon."

Gibbs scowled. "His own doctor is in DC, and you'll be going back to Maryland. I want him where I trust the people looking after him – and where there's a little security."

"Security?" Pitt repeated.

"He's convinced that his kidnappers will come after him again, and his reasons make a certain amount of sense," Gibbs said. "And I don't want to take any chances."

"I could take him to a private clinic in New York," DiNozzo suggested.

"That would take him away from both his doctors," Gibbs said. "No, I want him at Bethesda."

"What you want isn't the point, Agent Gibbs –" DiNozzo started, but Dr. Pitt broke in.

"If you two are going to have an argument, I am going to have to ask you to step outside," the doctor said. "In fact, let's discuss this outside." He opened the door and Gibbs walked out. DiNozzo followed unwillingly. "All right, I can arrange an ambulance to take him to Bethesda for security reasons," he said.

Gibbs nodded. "Please do."

"Now wait a minute, Gibbs, we haven't settled this," DiNozzo said before Dr. Pitt could go anywhere.

Gibbs looked at DiNozzo. "It makes no sense to take him away from his doctor and put him a five-hour drive away from his apartment." DiNozzo didn't look convinced. "I think if you asked Tony, you'd find that he'd rather be close to home."

"What's going on?" Joyce asked. Ziva and McGee were watching with wide eyes and no comments.

"I want to bring Anthony to New York for his convalescence. I was thinking of St. Marie's."

Joyce's brows went up. "Then I suppose we'll be having a number of house guests," she said. "I'll have to call Consuela and have her get things set up for that."

"What do you mean?" DiNozzo demanded.

"We can hardly ask his visitors to stay in hotels when we have plenty of space."

"Joyce –"

"Starting with his doctors. I'm sure they can't stay all the time, so I'll arrange for Jacob to pick them up from the train or plane or whichever transport they use." She turned towards Gibbs. "Agent Gibbs, please accept my invitation to stay with us as long as –"

"I suppose it isn't really practical," DiNozzo senior said ungraciously, and she turned back to him with raised eyebrows. "Fine, Gibbs, Bethesda. Joyce, find a hotel near the hospital and book us a suite indefinitely." With that he turned and went back into Tony's room.

"McGee?" Gibbs said. "You get that info?"

McGee turned his laptop to face Gibbs. "This is Peter MacNicol," he said, and Gibbs blinked at the photograph. It showed a small man, slight and very ordinary looking with curly hair.

"That's him?" Gibbs said incredulously. That was the guy who had Tony half-panicked?

"Yeah. What's the significance?"

"That's what Tony says the main kidnapper looks like." He scowled. "What about the Lola thing?"

"It's a quote from a song, from _Damn Yankees_ , sung by a woman who works for the devil."

Gibbs blinked contemplatively. "Thanks, McGee. Let the guards and Fornell know what that Peter looks like . . . like Peter MacNicol."

"Sure, Boss," McGee said, and Gibbs retired to Tony's room. DiNozzo senior looked at him sourly, but didn't comment, and they resumed their separate activities.


	17. Chapter 17

Fornell gazed at the photograph that McGee had e-mailed to his phone. "You've got to be kidding," he muttered.

"What?" Sacks asked.

"Apparently, DiNutso was abducted by Larry Fleinhardt from NUMB3RS." He showed the phone to Sacks, who laughed. "What's so funny?" Fornell asked.

"DiNozzo is going to be humiliated if that's the guy who grabbed him," the younger agent said.

Fornell shook his head, a little irritated by this sign of the rivalry Sacks had conceived with DiNozzo during that insane investigation for murder. "If that's the guy who grabbed him, that's also the guy who killed Rimbauer, Alkire and Thornburg," he pointed out, and Sacks raised his eyebrows. "Don't underestimate a guy just because he's not huge."

Sacks shrugged. "Regardless, if I know DiNozzo, he's going to be embarrassed by getting caught by a little squirt."

Fornell rolled his eyes. If DiNozzo really felt that way, he was going to be disappointed in him. The next stop on their canvas was a little diner that looked like it had come straight out of the fifties, down to the mini-jukeboxes on each table. There was a line, so he idled briefly, looking around at the occupants. Most of them looked like locals. It wasn't like Waynesborough was on a big thoroughfare. That was one of the things that made the dump so odd. He had the computer weenies researching abandoned or recently sold properties in the area, and they'd spent much of the morning visiting the ones that had popped up first. So far, zip.

"Can I help you, boys?" asked the hostess, a woman in her fifties with short hair and a grandmotherly figure. Her name tag said Doris. "You don't look like you're here for dinner."

The scent from the kitchen wafted towards them and it smelled heavenly, in a greasy spoon sort of way.

"We might stop back," Fornell said, "but no, we're not here for dinner. I'm Special Agent Tobias Fornell of the FBI, and this is Agent Sacks."

"You here about that boy who got dumped at the hospital?" Doris asked, and Fornell nodded. "Wasn't that just the strangest thing?"

"What do you know about it?"

"Just the gossip that's gone around town." Fornell raised his eyebrows. "Some federal agent – not FBI, but no one seems to know what else – anyway, he got dumped off naked and half-dead from pneumonia in the emergency room by a woman who disappeared before anyone could get her name. You gotta admit, that's weird."

And Doris couldn't really know how weird. He was glad to note that the whole town didn't apparently already know about the dead man in the trunk of the car. "Yeah," he said with a shrug. "So, I've got some questions. I'd like to start with you, then I'll ask the other folks in here."

"Sure." Doris turned away from the desk. "Heather!" A waitress popped her head out of the kitchen. "Watch the front, would you? I gotta talk to these cops." Fornell could honestly have done without the broadcast announcement that they were 'cops,' but he didn't respond to it in any way as Doris led them to an empty booth. "Want some coffee?"

"Sure," Fornell said, and Sacks refused. Doris gestured towards Heather and then turned to Fornell expectantly. Fornell held out a photograph of Aaron Thornburg. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

"Can't say I have," Doris said. Fornell dropped a photo of Rimbauer in front of her. "Nope, not her either." Next was the composite of the woman they knew only as Sarah that McGee had located in a case connected to the gun used to kill Rimbauer and Alkire. They couldn't firmly connect her to this case, but it was worth a shot, especially when they had so damned little to go on. Doris snorted and gestured as Heather walked up with the coffee. "Heather looks a lot like this one, but I can assure you, she's never done nothing wrong."

Fornell looked up at the girl, and she did bear a superficial resemblance to the composite, but she had a very ordinary face. Pretty, but without any exceptional features. Fornell opened his phone and called up the photo. "I know this is –"

Heather was leaning over and pouring his coffee. "Hey, that's that guy from _NUMB3RS_ and _Dragonslayer,_ isn't it?" she said before he could finish speaking.

"It is, but –"

"That is so weird!" Heather said. Doris made a little shooing motion with her hand, and Heather started to move away. Fornell was about to dismiss her from his attention when he realized that there might be some significance to her reaction.

"Why is it weird?" he asked. Sacks looked up, his attention caught.

Heather turned back and shrugged. "I saw a guy who looks just like him a couple of days ago, when I was out jogging."

"Where was this?"

She shrugged, coming back to the table, the coffeepot held in a practiced hand. "A couple blocks from the hospital. Main, around Fifth or Sixth, I think." She tilted her head, eyes distant. "Sixth," she amended firmly. "He was out in front of Lively's Crafts."

"Doing what?"

"He sitting in the passenger seat of a car. I was out jogging, and it was after ten, but I was headed south on Main and the car was facing north."

"Have you been jogging at night again?" Doris demanded.

"Yeah, Doris, it's not like this is LA, jogging at night here is safe as houses."

"Can you talk to this girl?" Doris exclaimed. "She moved here from California last year with her dad, and she seems to think nothing bad can happen in a town like this one."

Fornell blinked. "Heather, when did you see him?" he asked. "What day?"

She considered it for a moment. "It must have been . . . yeah, Wednesday night."

Fornell took a deep breath. "The night a man was left in the emergency room of your hospital here?"

"Yeah," she said, shrugging.

"Can you describe the car?"

"It was dark. I don't know. Four doors, dark, not cool. Much more than that, I'm really not sure."

"If it was dark, how can you be sure who you saw in the car?" Sacks asked, his tone revealing his irritation at her less than useful answers.

She shrugged again. "Somebody drove by from behind me. Their headlights shined right in."

"Do you know who that was?" Fornell asked on the off chance that whoever had driven by had noticed more detail about the car.

"Sure, it was Louie. He's always out late."

"Louis Freeburg," Doris supplied. "He works the evening shift at the hospital, so it was probably after ten thirty."

"Thank you," Fornell said. "How did he seem?"

"Like he was waiting for someone. I don't know. He didn't look at me."

"That's probably a good thing," Fornell replied.

"Why?"

"If he's the man I think he is, he's wanted for murder."

"Cool," Heather said. Doris glowered at her. Rolling his eyes, Fornell continued the interview, but the girl didn't know anything else of use.

* * *

McGee sat uncomfortably by Tony's bedside. He didn't particularly like hospitals, and he found Tony's condition disturbing enough from outside the window that being in the room with him was distressing in the extreme. A man as full throttle as Tony usually was shouldn't be lying pallid in a hospital bed, hooked up to half a dozen monitors and nearly as many IV bags, sleeping at five past ten in the morning.

He'd been called in by Gibbs when he, Dr. Pitt and Mr. DiNozzo had left the room to have their argument where Tony couldn't hear them. He thought they were trying to decide who should ride in the ambulance with Tony, a matter McGee didn't think needed discussion. Which man appeared at Tony's bedside after his bout with the plague? McGee knew his parents wouldn't have been able to stay away, even if ordered to. The fact that he'd heard Kate informing Tony's father and yet the man had never shown up at any point was mind-boggling to McGee.

The man in the bed muttered something unintelligible. McGee wasn't sure if he should respond or ignore it. It sounded like Tony was talking in his sleep. Surely that wasn't something he needed to . . .

"Gibbs!" Tony said, his eyes opening.

"It's me, Tony," McGee said, sitting forward, but he didn't get the impression that Tony saw him.

"Gibbs?" Tony's voice was hoarse but clearly understandable. McGee reached over and waved his hand in front of Tony's face, but the other man's eyes didn't track. In fact, he started looking around, his eyes open but not seeing anything. "Gibbs?" He'd begun to sound desperate.

McGee stood up and went to the door. The doorway to this room was recessed slightly from the main hall. Leaning around the corner to where Gibbs, DiNozzo and Dr. Pitt stood talking, he said, "He's asking for Gibbs, and I think –"

Gibbs pushed past him into the room, and McGee, relieved to be off bed watch, closed the door behind him. Mr. DiNozzo started to go past him, but Dr. Pitt held him back. "Sir, yesterday you asked me how well I really knew your son," he said in a low voice.

"Yeah?" DiNozzo senior asked, turning back. They were now blocking the exit to the recessed doorway. McGee considered fleeing, but with them blocking the other end of the small entryway, the only direction he really had was back into the room. Opening the door at this moment struck him as a bad idea. DiNozzo senior raised his chin. "What of it?"

Dr. Pitt shrugged. Keeping his voice low, he said, "I may not be aware of how anxiety and medication affect his loquacity, but I do know one thing." DiNozzo senior raised an eyebrow. "Agent Gibbs visited Tony every day while I had him confined to the hospital. I never met you until the helicopter ride over here."

DiNozzo senior bridled slightly. "I resent the implication," he snapped. "My relationship to my son is none of your concern."

"Maybe not," Dr. Pitt said. "But my patient's health is, and I genuinely believe that Agent Gibbs is partially responsible for Tony's survival after his bout with the plague." McGee blinked. He wasn't sure where this was coming from.

Tony's father glowered at the doctor. "Oh, and how is that?"

"Corny as it sounds, he was there, and he believed in him," Dr. Pitt replied. "Survival rate for that version of the plague is fifteen percent without antibiotic intervention. Those aren't great odds, Mr. DiNozzo. I honestly wasn't sure he'd make it."

Mr. DiNozzo had the stone mask down almost as well as Tony did, but McGee was beginning to see a few cracks. "I believe my son will recover," he said, his tone unsteady. "Agent Gibbs is merely his boss."

Dr. Pitt pursed his lips. "As a doctor, I've seen a lot of how people's relationships affect their health," he said. "Boss or not, Agent Gibbs has a profound effect on your son."

"In what way?"

Dr. Pitt almost snorted. "He ordered him to live. He handed him a cell phone, leaned down and ordered him to live. I'll tell you, we couldn't get him to give up that cell phone. He hung onto it like it was a talisman of good health throughout his recovery."

"I remember that moment." Ducky's voice made them all jump slightly. He'd walked up silently and evidently overheard the conversation, and since he must just have arrived back from DC, his presence was startling. "The rest of us who were there had largely given up," Ducky went on. "Timothy was back at the office, I believe, with Abigail," he added, nodding towards McGee. "I was there in the isolation ward with Caitlin, and she was weeping on my shoulder because Anthony was dying." That was an image McGee found surprising, though he probably shouldn't. "Gibbs simply strode past us, refusing to consider the possibility." Ducky sighed. "It's ironic, really."

"What's ironic?" DiNozzo senior asked, and McGee bit his lip. He knew exactly what Ducky meant, and those events hadn't been so long ago that he'd had time to build up calluses.

"Caitlin mourning for Anthony," Ducky replied. "After all, within a month it was she who had died."

Mr. DiNozzo blinked at him. "Of the plague?" he asked dryly.

"No, she was shot," Ducky said flatly.

The monosyllables hit like marbles on a hardwood floor, bringing silence for a moment. "I . . ." started Mr. DiNozzo, looking uncomfortable. "Joyce said he stopped talking about her at all, but I'm quite certain he never told her that she was dead. We assumed she'd just been reassigned."

McGee blinked. How very like Tony to just never bring it up. "He was there," he said, and then he couldn't believe he'd spoken when everyone turned to look at him. "He and Gibbs were both . . . she was standing in between them when it happened. Tony had . . ." He gestured at his face and then managed to force himself to stop talking. What had it been, six months at most? Seven? The rain had washed the blood off Tony's face while they had searched for Ari's brass.

* * *

Gibbs settled Tony down and sat beside him. Several times he'd had moments like this, where he'd needed to be reassured, and it seldom failed to recur a few moments later. For the first time since they'd arrived here, apart from occasional bathroom breaks, he was alone in the room with Tony. He wasn't sure why Mr. DiNozzo hadn't followed him in. He'd never failed to before. Regardless, Gibbs wasn't arguing.

Sure enough, within a very few moments, Tony started fretting again. Gibbs quieted him, uncertain why a few words from him could silence whatever dreams were disturbing the younger man's rest, but glad that something could. When Tony had been calm for several minutes, Gibbs rose and went back to the door. Upon opening it, he found four men in very close quarters. They'd clearly been having some sort of intense conversation. "McGee?" he said, and gestured with his head. McGee nodded and slipped past him, appearing flustered and grateful to escape.

Gibbs stepped outside and shut the door. Disregarding Dr. Pitt and Mr. DiNozzo for the moment, he said, "Ducky, I didn't expect you back."

Ducky shrugged. "I didn't get the message that you would be returning today until I was more than halfway here, Jethro. It seemed foolish to turn back at that point." Gibbs nodded and tried to marshal his arguments for Mr. DiNozzo again.

Before he could gather his words, Tony's father said, "I believe the helicopter Joyce chartered will hold five. With Joyce and me, that will leave three seats. Dr. Pitt?"

"I'll be glad to accept a lift," Dr. Pitt said with a nod. "Unless someone has questions, I'd like to go check the preparations." When no one moved to ask him to stay, he left.

Gibbs wasn't sure he'd heard right. "You're going in the helicopter?" he asked DiNozzo.

Tony's father shrugged. "It will undoubtedly be a more comfortable ride. Let me know if there's anyone else you'd like to send back with us." He glanced down the hallway. "I think I'll join Joyce and Officer David in the cafeteria."

Gibbs nodded wordlessly, and DiNozzo walked down the hall and out of sight around a corner. "What just happened?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm sure you don't want to know, Jethro," Ducky said with a small smile. "Suffice it to say, wind was taken out of sails."

Gibbs decided to take Ducky at his word and not ask further. "You want to take a look at him since you're here?"

"Certainly, Jethro," Ducky said.


	18. Chapter 18

The trip to DC went without a hitch. Ducky took one of the seats in the DiNozzos' chopper. Fornell and Sacks drove in front of the ambulance while Ziva and McGee drove behind it. There were no unexpected delays, no attempts to waylay the convoy. All went as planned. Dr. Pitt was ready when they arrived to smooth their way into Bethesda, and Jenny was waiting with the DiNozzos.

Dr. Pitt and his staff politely ejected him from the room while they got DiNozzo resettled, and the minute he was out, Tony's father hurried up. "Did he say anything?"

"He didn't really wake up," Gibbs said.

"Do we know any more about what happened, yet?" Jenny asked.

"Nothing that I haven't already told you," Gibbs replied. "So far as we can tell, the woman who dropped Tony off at the hospital joined Peter in a car two blocks away, and they made a clean getaway. Waynesborough doesn't have traffic cameras, they avoided ATM machines and convenience stores, and left nothing behind but a few grainy images of the woman on the hospital camera. We have composites put together by the hospital staff and by Miss Heather Ryan, but that's about it."

"And Abby's already running them against facial recognition software. The only hit so far on the man is Peter MacNicol."

"And the woman?"

"Dozens," Jenny said. "There's just nothing about her face that stands out, unfortunately. What we really need is for DiNozzo to wake up so we can get more information from him."

Gibbs grimaced. "Right."

* * *

Beeping. Again. Tony hated hospitals. They made so much noise. There were the beeps of the machines, the squeaky shoes of the staff on the linoleum floor, soft chimes when elevators reached their destinations, random office noises, and the wheels on the food carts went round and round forever and followed him into his dreams.

He opened his eyes and looked around nervously, not sure what to expect. He wasn't sure what was going on. The first face his eyes landed on startled the living daylights out of him. "Dad?"

"Anthony!" His father smiled broadly and leaned towards him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," Tony said. "What are you still doing here . . . and where am I now? This isn't the same hospital, is it?"

"We're at Bethesda Naval Hospital, son," his father said. "Agent Gibbs insisted you would prefer it to a clinic in New York, but if he was wrong, we can move you in a trice."

"Why would I want to go to New York?" Tony asked, unclear about just what was going on.

"It doesn't matter." Tony stared at his father, still stunned by his presence. "Joyce is here as well, being watched over by Ziva."

"Good. Ziva's good." Tony shook his head. His throat still hurt, his chest ached slightly, but he didn't really feel all that bad. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"Anthony, you were abducted!" his father exclaimed quietly. "I don't understand why you keep asking me that."

"I've asked you before?" Tony asked, blinking. At his father's nod, he shrugged. "Maybe because the last time you showed up to the hospital to see me was in 1984, and I've been in hospitals a few times since then. Did . . ." He vaguely remembered his father mentioning a ransom. "Did you get the money back?"

"All but three million, but that doesn't matter, Anthony."

Tony blinked. "All but three million? How much did you pay?"

"Fifteen."

The door to the bathroom opened while Tony was still trying to get a handle on the idea that his father had actually paid that much to retrieve him. He turned towards the figure entering the room with a smile. "Boss," he said.

"Good to see you awake, Tony," Gibbs said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Tony said frankly.

"Well, you look better than you did with the plague," Gibbs remarked.

"So just pathetic and wan, not pathetic, wan and dead?"

"You feel up to telling me what happened?"

Tony closed his eyes. "I'm trying real hard not to think too much about that, Boss," he said.

"We really need to know what you can tell us, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied.

"Anthony, you've got to tell us what happened!" his father exclaimed. Tony opened his eyes in time to see Gibbs direct a glare in his father's direction. "He does!" his father added defensively.

Tony sighed. "Can I have some water?" he asked, unprepared for the immediate movement on the parts of both men. Once Gibbs saw that his father was pouring him a glass, Gibbs stopped, and Tony was mildly amused. That explained some of his father's presence. In person, a DiNozzo wasn't going to be outdone in any way by a mere boss, even if he had been repeatedly in the past in absentia. His father held the cup for him and let him sip from the straw. Gibbs seated himself to the side of the bed.

When he'd had enough to drink, Tony rested his head against the pillow. "You got a tape recorder?" he asked.

"Just waiting for you to be ready," Gibbs said.

"There's no need to be so curt," Tony's father said, and Tony turned to him in surprise.

"It's fine, Dad," he said, then a tickle in his throat made him cough. He expected to feel ripped apart by it, but evidently he'd gotten past that stage. He needed more water afterwards, but then he was ready to begin. "I assume you traced my movements on Sunday night, Boss?"

"Your wallet and gun were found in a garbage can not too far from Ziz," Gibbs said.

"Right." Tony closed his eyes. "I was walking back to my car when I heard a woman screaming down an alley. There was a blond girl struggling with a masked guy while another girl looked on, screaming. The one making all the racket was Lola."

"Who is Lola?" Gibbs asked. "You mentioned her before."

"She's Peter's gal Friday," Tony said. "Cute in an ordinary sort of way, brown hair and eyes, and absolutely terrifying."

Gibbs pulled a sheet of paper out of a folder sitting on the bedside table and handed it to him. Tony looked with disfavor at the composite sketch. "Well, that does look like her, but the eyes are too . . . warm."

"We'll have an artist come and sit with you later," Gibbs said, and Tony nodded with a sigh. "So, what then?"

"Then Lola produced her handy dandy pink taser, followed by a hypodermic."

Gibbs blinked at him. "Pink?"

Tony nodded. "Pink. Next thing I knew, I woke up naked in some kind of basement on an air mattress. If it hadn't been for the radiator, I would have frozen to death."

"We've been there," Gibbs said.

"I wondered." Tony swallowed. "That move didn't seem very planned. I still don't . . . they let me see their faces, Gibbs. All three of them."

"Do you remember me telling you Thornburg is dead?"

Tony recalled the spray of blood hitting his face. He really didn't like that sensation. "Yeah," he said shortly. "I remember."

"Go on."

Tony took in a breath, but this one caught in his throat and his father leaned over with the water again. "Drink, son."

Tony took a couple of swallows, then looked over at Gibbs. "This isn't over, Boss. Peter was freaky from the start. I mean, after they finished beating up on me to convince Dad they were serious, he had a catered dinner brought in and ate with me."

"Catered?" his father repeated. "By a restaurant?"

"Well, I don't know where it came from exactly, but it was steak medallions, nicely prepared veggies and mashed potatoes – not from a packet. You don't exactly cook that up on a camp stove in a basement."

"You could, I imagine," his father said. "It just wouldn't be very good."

"This was very good," Tony replied. He turned to Gibbs. "Boss, it was like a date dinner. Very weird."

"A date, DiNozzo?" Gibbs repeated, eyebrows going up.

"Yeah," Tony said. "He made it absolutely clear later on that he wanted to be . . ." He contemplated the right way to put it. "He wanted to be more than just friends." Both his companions stared at him in stunned silence for a moment. "I know how weird that sounds," he said quickly, interpreting their reactions as disbelief. "But he wasn't precisely subtle."

"Did he touch you?" his father asked.

"He helped kidnap me, Dad," Tony said impatiently. "He touched me."

"I meant . . . ." His father flushed. "Did he . . . assault you . . ."

Tony opened his mouth to point out that any unwanted touch could be construed as assault, but Gibbs tapped him gently on the back of the head. "You know what he means, DiNozzo."

Tony swallowed. "Not unless you count kissing me on the forehead," he said. A sudden thought occurred to him, and his mouth went dry. "At least not that I'm aware of," he added.

"How could you miss it, Anthony?" his father asked.

"I was unconscious more than once," Tony said, his skin crawling. He reached out and grabbed the plastic glass from his father and took a deep sip of water.

"Is there any chance you misinterpreted him?" Gibbs asked.

Tony shook his head. "I really don't think so, Boss."

"Okay, let's go back and take the events in order. You woke up on the air mattress."

Tony took Gibbs through his two failed escape attempts and the charming videotaping session before he began to fade out again. Gibbs suggested a break when he started having trouble keeping his eyes open, and Tony didn't have the energy to object. He couldn't keep awake, but thinking of Butch made him remember nightmare images of the man's death. Delirium did not improve the experience of witnessing death by gunshot wound to the head. And knowing that he was only alive because someone had committed murder made him feel very peculiar. He lay for a while, drifting on the surface of sleep till finally, the undertow swept him down deep.


	19. Chapter 19

Tony's father started to ask Gibbs a question when Tony seemed to have drifted off, but Gibbs shook his head. He stood up and walked to the door, beckoning the man towards him. "What?" he asked when DiNozzo had joined him.

"Is he still delirious?" DiNozzo asked. To Gibbs he sounded as if he hoped for a positive response.

Gibbs shook his head. He didn't know what to make of Tony's claims. He needed to know more of what had happened to make any kind of judgment. One thing he knew, however. "No, he was completely coherent. He's not delirious."

"But that means that this man, this Peter, is after him still."

"That was a possibility anyway," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo's eyes widened. "Why do you think we're keeping guards on you and your wife? If they don't get everything they ask for, kidnappers often try again."

DiNozzo blanched slightly. "But this sexual angle, what –"

Gibbs shook his head, and DiNozzo broke off. "We can figure that out later." He opened the door and, as he'd expected, found McGee loitering in the hall. "Get this transcribed, and then get it to Fornell," he said, handing him the tape from the micro cassette recorder. "And scare up some lunch."

"Yes, Boss," McGee said.

Gibbs walked over and sat back down, picking up his file. He'd wait to call Jenny till they had more complete information.

McGee brought hot sandwiches from a nearby deli. Gibbs wasn't surprised when Tony started to stir the moment the odors entered the room. Trust DiNozzo to be aware of food. On the other hand, they had no clear idea how much he'd gotten to eat during the three days he'd been missing. Tony put out a hand and hit the button to raise the head of the bed till he was only reclining slightly. "Did you bring me one, McGoo?" he asked.

McGee shook his head. "Not a sandwich," he replied, and Tony's face fell. McGee, however, wasn't finished. "I brought you some soup. Feraresse's has some of the best chicken soup in the world." He put a little cup on the tray table and opened it, handing Tony a spoon.

Tony leaned forward and took a small sip of the soup. "I forgive you for the lack of a sandwich," he said after tasting it. McGee grinned. "This time," he added with an attempt at intimidation, but McGee just rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, McGee," Gibbs said, and the young man took his own sandwich and left.

There was a moment of relative quiet while they all started eating, then Tony cleared his throat. "So, where were we?" he asked.

"Eating, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"I don't know how long I'm going to stay awake. I can eat and talk."

"Eat first, then talk," Gibbs replied firmly.

"He makes good sense, son," said DiNozzo senior.

Tony looked put upon as he focused his attention on eating, but Gibbs didn't care. The boy needed to eat first, even if he fell asleep afterwards. Gibbs wasn't sure why DiNozzo senior was agreeing with him, but he was reasonably sure it wouldn't last. Long before Gibbs would have expected it, Tony pushed the bowl away. "Good as it is, I can't eat any more," he said.

Gibbs closed up the soup and put it on a side table. He gauged Tony's condition and said, "Go back to sleep."

"Boss!" Tony's voice was perilously close to a whine, a sure sign of exhaustion, and Gibbs wasn't having it.

He leaned closer. "Go to sleep, DiNozzo," he said, giving him a tap on the back of the head. DiNozzo's eyes sought his before they drooped shut.

When he sat up he found another pair of DiNozzo eyes on him. DiNozzo senior didn't say anything, he just looked at him with an expression of puzzlement. Gibbs shrugged and leaned back in his chair, getting back to work.

* * *

Tony awoke in total darkness. There was no sound at all, no beeping, no sigh of air conditioning, no noise of breathing other than his own. He lay on a soft surface, uncovered and naked. He raised his right hand to his forehead and felt the clasp of the cuff around his wrist and the weight of the chain as it rattled in response to his movement.

"No!" he breathed. He sat up sharply.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs' voice seemed distant, but Tony blinked around him. He was no longer in darkness. He had . . . he'd . . . he shook his head at the hospital room. "Tony?" A hand landed on his shoulder, and Tony turned his head.

"Gibbs?" he murmured. "What happened . . . it was dark."

"You were dreaming, Tony," Gibbs said.

Tony rubbed his face and leaned back against the pillows. "Sorry. I didn't . . ." He sighed and glanced over, expecting his father to be looking at him contemptuously. He wasn't there. "Where's my dad?"

"With Joyce," Gibbs said. "They're having dinner."

Tony felt himself relax slightly. "How angry is he, really? About the money?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I haven't seen any sign that he is angry," he said.

"Well, it's early days, yet," Tony replied. "And I'm still helpless in the hospital. There's time." Gibbs didn't respond. For that, Tony was grateful. McGee and even Ziva might have tried to convince him he was wrong, but Gibbs knew better. "Do you have that recorder?" Tony asked.

"I do," Gibbs said, pulling it out. "So, what happened after they made the video?"

Tony grimaced. "They put me back in the stupid little room," he said. "After taking my pants off again. Oh, and I hit Butch."

"You hit him?"

"I was a little pissed," Tony said.

"Any retaliation?"

Tony shook his head. "No, Peter said something about me having a right to get some of my own back and stopped Butch from doing anything." Gibbs gazed at him for a long moment, and Tony wondered what was going on behind his eyes. "Then they cuffed me, shoved me in that room, and Peter gave me an ice pack."

"An ice pack?" Gibbs repeated.

"Yeah, I thought it was weird at the time, but I figured I needed to make him like me so they wouldn't kill me. We bantered a bit about keeping me looking my best, and then he left."

"Bantered?"

"You know, he said something about saving bloody face shots for later, I said I'd rather not." He shrugged. "Banter."

"Right. What then?"

"I was alone for hours, then they brought in dinner on one of those room service tables. It was set for two, and . . ." Tony's stomach turned over at the memory. "And Peter and I had dinner together. He left me naked and cuffed, and we ate with spoons. It was very strange. He told me he liked me better than Butch and Lola, and that he'd spent more time watching me than watching my father, and when we were done with the food, he didn't go away. He kept trying to make conversation." Gibbs was watching him, eyes narrowed and unreadable. "Seriously, Boss. It was the weirdest thing."

"I believe you, DiNozzo," Gibbs said in his calm voice, and Tony sighed with relief.

"It was beyond creepy," he added with a shudder.

"Sounds like it." Gibbs' voice demonstrated the sympathy he didn't express verbally. "Go on."

"When he left, he and Butch gave me a brandy with some kind of sedative in it. I . . ." He bit his lip. "I didn't just drink it right off, but once Butch had wrestled me to the ground, it seemed kind of pointless to refuse." Gibbs shrugged with understanding, and Tony made a face. "I drank it down and passed out very quickly. Next thing I knew, I was gagged and restrained within an inch of my life in a car trunk." Gibbs looked up sharply and their eyes met, and Tony could tell that the memory of Lt. Commander Wilkerson's ordeal was in his mind. "It was . . . bad. I was already having trouble breathing when I woke up, and it just got worse from there."

"How long were you in the trunk?"

"I don't know, exactly. I couldn't reach the taillights or the emergency release, but I could reach the back seats, just barely. I pounded until Peter opened one of them." Tony leaned his head back against the pillows. Gibbs looked appalled. "He said I couldn't have been in the trunk more than four hours and basically called me a wuss, told me that a normally healthy adult shouldn't be having real problems yet, so I explained why I was different." The memory of himself stuffed into a trunk, bound so tightly that he could barely move and pleading for air, made him tremble with anger. "Peter agreed to leave the gag out and hold the seat open far enough to let in a bit of fresh air, but he told me he'd shoot me if I shouted." Tony made a face. "Not that I could have if I tried. I couldn't get a deep breath without coughing my lungs out. Butch kept saying that it would be easier to just kill me. That they could shoot me and roll my body down the hill where we were."

"Did you see where you were?" Gibbs asked.

"Not a lot. Just that there wasn't much traffic, there were a lot of trees and the sun was really bright after being shut up in the trunk." Gibbs nodded. "So, I have no idea how long the drive was after that. It was . . ." He shuddered. "I tried to look out when it became clear we were stopping, but Peter held the seat until we were in the garage of the house. Butch dragged me out of the trunk and dumped me on the floor because I couldn't stand. I still couldn't figure out why they were keeping me alive, but then Peter said something about my father expecting to talk to me later. After a while, Peter took me through this underground tunnel from the garage into the house – for weather I guess," he added when Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "We went through the basement, and that's when I started to have real suspicions that Peter wanted more than money out of me."

"Why?"

Tony pursed his lips. "Because of something he said. I started resisting, sort of. I really didn't think I could face the stairs out of the basement, and there was a box of baseball supplies down there, and I just wanted to rest, and maybe dig in that box for a bat." Gibbs snorted and Tony gave him a weak grin. "Well, when I stopped moving and asked him why I should bother if he was just going to kill me in the end, he –"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs exclaimed, sounding exasperated.

Tony grimaced. "Anyway, he told me he wasn't going to kill me, that he had other plans for me." Tony put his hands over his face. "He said that, mind you, with his hand on my cheek, like I was a girl he was trying to reassure or something. Then he pushed me ahead of him and up the stairs. I . . . I started coughing on the stairs, and Peter had to steady me, and he didn't let go right away."

"Where was he touching you?"

"On my back, but he was . . . it was like he was caressing." Tony scowled. "Man, this sucks! I _so_ don't want this going down in the record anywhere."

That Gibbs understood Tony's feelings was evident in his voice if not in his words. "Go on, DiNozzo."

"He suggested that I might want a shower and cuffed me to one of those old people rails in a bathtub. I took the stupid shower, but then I wound up sitting there for what seemed like hours, damp and freezing. He came back and called me 'Tony dear' and asked how I was doing. When he saw that I was shivering, he wrapped a thick robe around me and cuffed me again, with my hands in front." Tony realized that he was rubbing the bandages on his wrists and stopped. "So, he took me into a room with an attached bath, a bed, a bedside table, a couple of chairs, and these really strange white walls that looked almost like glass. I –" Tony broke off, swallowing. "It was a panic room, Boss, but he'd fixed it so I couldn't open it from the inside." Gibbs' eyes were wide. "I sat down because I really couldn't stand up anymore, but when I saw . . ." Tony swallowed convulsively. "You remember that bastard who was so into the fifties that he chained women to walls and tried to train them to be good wives?" Gibbs nodded, brows knitting. "He had a chain like those, attached to the wall by the bed. I . . . they had to taser me to get me into it."

"He chained you to the wall?"

Tony nodded. "Naked, chained to a wall, in a bedroom where everything was attached to the floor or too lightweight to be any threat to anyone. There was cable, and he promised me DVDs, too." Tony paused to gulp down the lump of panic rising in his throat, and threatening to choke off his words. "Boss, he said he was going to keep me. He said the only reason he took this job was because when he went to take a look at me, he . . ." Tony couldn't finish that sentence. "He said he was going to find a body and burn it and leave it somewhere to be found as Tony DiNozzo so no one would be looking for me."

"What about the ransom?" Gibbs asked.

Tony's stomach flipped over. "He said it was required to provide an explanation for my disappearance. Boss, he was serious, he meant it and he . . ." Tony shivered. "He kept doing things like running his fingers through my hair and stroking my face. Lola and Butch both knew about it. She said I had too much attitude to last long. Boss, if he let me go _before_ he got the ransom, he's not done. He just didn't want me to die before he could . . . could . . ."

A nurse came bustling in and Tony realized that his heart monitor was beeping wildly. She pushed him gently back onto the bed and shot a glare at Gibbs. "I think you should wait outside, sir," she said.

"No!" Tony exclaimed. "No, I don't want . . . he needs to stay."

"Not if he's stressing you out," she replied.

"It's not him that's causing the stress. If he wasn't here, I'd be . . ." Tony stopped, he didn't want to verbalize that he'd be a basket case. "Just stay, Boss," he said to Gibbs instead.

"Not going anywhere, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

Tony was panting now. Fear had shortened his breath when the nurse had ordered Gibbs out of the room, and he was having trouble recovering. He lay back, his right hand pressed to his chest, deeply embarrassed by his reaction. Nevertheless, the mere idea of Gibbs leaving made him anxious. The nurse made few checks and then left. Tony tried to think of something casual to say to play off his utter humiliation, but nothing came.

"You think you could do a sketch of them?" Gibbs asked when Tony had calmed down, and he nodded.

"Where did you find Butch?" Tony asked.

Gibbs paused for a millisecond, then came across with the goods. "He was in the trunk of the car you were dropped off in."

"Did they leave any evidence?"

Gibbs sighed. "Abby reported it as a complete lack of evidence."

Tony grimaced unhappily. He'd been afraid of that. "So, what about the other woman?" he asked. "Any leads on who she is?"

Gibbs reached into his file again and pulled out a photograph. Tony took it and looked at it. "That's her. I didn't see her for long, and she was moving, but I'm pretty sure that's her."

"Denise Rimbauer," Gibbs said. "Shot in the head the night after the kidnapping. She's in a coma."

Tony gulped. "Do we know why?"

"She talked a lot," Gibbs said. "To a lot of people."

"Four of them, huh?" Tony said. He leaned his head back and started drifting without even realizing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferraresse's is the name of a deli near where I worked when I wrote this. I can't actually attest to their chicken soup, but though I love their BLTs, that's not really invalid food. :D


	20. Chapter 20

Gibbs looked at his suddenly sleeping agent, a little startled but not really worried. He'd just had an emotional time. If Gibbs got hold of this Peter bastard, he was going to have to restrain himself to keep from beating the man's brains in. DiNozzo's devil-may-care confidence had clearly been badly shaken. He was just as glad that DiNozzo had conked out at that moment. He hadn't actually wanted to tell him about Alkire yet if he could help it. How would DiNozzo react to the fact that a former frat brother had sold him out?

He called to head off the sketch artist since DiNozzo wasn't going to be up to working with him at the moment, then sat back to his work.

The door opened and Gibbs looked up, expecting the DiNozzos. Instead, Abby peered in, a vase full of glossy black roses in her hands. "Is he awake?" she asked.

"Just fell asleep, Abbs," Gibbs said softly.

She tiptoed across the room, quite a feat in those boots, and deposited the flowers on the beside table. "He's always asleep when I come," she said sadly.

"It's only been twice, Abby," Gibbs pointed out.

"That's because you and Agent Fornell are such slave drivers," she said. "But I don't mind, not if it helps keep my Tony safe." She pulled a chair up and sat down beside him. "I can't stay long. He won't even know I've come."

"I'll tell him," Gibbs said. "And you brought flowers."

"Those could be from anybody."

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder at the flowers. "I think he'll know they're from you without even looking at the card, Abbs," he said.

"You think so?" she exclaimed quietly, and then she gave him a hug. "You always know what to say."

He rolled his eyes, mildly amused by her mood. "You find anything, Abbs?"

"Oh!" She pulled a folder out of her purse. "Here are all the best matches we had from what I managed to pull from the images in the emergency room. I thought Tony could look at them."

It was a thick sheaf of papers, but Gibbs took it. "Anything else?"

"We're trying to trace that remaining three million, but no joy so far. Did Tony remember anything helpful?"

Gibbs shrugged. "He remembers lots of things, unfortunately, none of them seem likely to help us locate his kidnappers." He popped the latest cassette out. "Get this to McGee. He'll know what to do with it."

"Of course." She looked sadly at DiNozzo, then stood up. "I'll be back later," she said to the sleeping figure, then she turned to Gibbs. "Promise you'll call me when he's awake again?"

"See you later Abby," Gibbs said.

"Promise?" she pleaded.

The door opened to admit the DiNozzos, and Abby gave up. She nodded to them and went out. "Has he slept this whole time?" DiNozzo senior asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "No, he woke up for a while."

"Did he say anything?" Gibbs nodded and took another drink of coffee. Sooner or later he was going to have to sleep, but not while Tony was still feeling so vulnerable. "Well?" DiNozzo senior asked, and Gibbs looked up.

"What?"

"What did he say?"

Gibbs tilted his head towards his sleeping agent. "Don't want to wake him," he said, and DiNozzo senior scowled in irritation. Nevertheless, he sat down and didn't push any further. Joyce stood at the foot of the bed looking down at her stepson worriedly.

"How is he holding up?" she asked.

Gibbs shrugged. "He's exhausted," he said.

Joyce nodded. "No wonder," she commented.

Tony's eyes flickered open and he looked up. "Joyce?" he said.

"Yes, dear," she replied. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," he said with a faint smile. "You?"

"A little worried about you, but nothing I can't handle."

Tony's smile broadened slightly, but he didn't seem very awake. "Good. You look nice."

Her eyes widened and she smiled. "Thank you, I –"

Gibbs put a hand up and she stopped. "I think he's gone back to sleep," he said.

"Assuming he ever woke up," DiNozzo senior said. "He used to do that when he was little." Gibbs was moderately surprised to hear Tony's father talking familiarly about when Tony was a child. He'd gotten the impression that they'd spent very little time together. "His nanny told us she could have whole conversations with him when he was asleep."

Gibbs nodded and sat back, not sure what to say to that. DiNozzo had never done anything of the kind to him, though he did have a tendency to wake up speaking.

Joyce pulled out some crossword puzzles and sat down. Nurses and doctors came in and out, checking on his condition. It wasn't till the dinner tray was delivered that DiNozzo stirred again.

He looked around at all of them. "Am I dying?" he asked croakily.

"No, DiNozzo."

"Oh, good," the younger DiNozzo said, but his eyes seemed a little wary, and Gibbs knew he wondered why he was surrounded by friends _and_ family. Having Gibbs hanging around his sick bed he was used to. "That would suck." He brought the head of the bed up to a sitting position and caught sight of the flowers. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "Glad I already asked about dying."

Joyce turned to look. "Where did those come from?"

"Abby," DiNozzo said. "It's always a bit of a shock, but she does love her black roses. Hey, Joyce."

"Hello, Tony dear," she said. "You're looking better."

"That's not good," he replied with knit brows.

"No, it's good," Joyce said, sounding worried. "You do look better than you did."

Her stepson gave her a mournful look. "When people tell you that you look better, it means you still look awful, just not quite as awful."

Joyce tried to look stern, but she ended up laughing. "Well, I can't say you look your best."

"You, on the other hand," DiNozzo said, "are looking lovely as always. The new haircut suits you."

Gibbs listened to his agent flirt with his stepmother with half an ear, observing that the younger man seemed very much himself at the moment. There was no sign of the incipient panic he'd shown earlier, but then DiNozzo was a master of masks. Once he got his masks up, it became difficult to judge his mood. DiNozzo senior was looking on watchfully, but Gibbs wasn't altogether sure what he was seeing. Did he realize that his son was hiding his real reactions or was there a family dynamic that Gibbs wasn't picking up on?

A nurse walked in. She looked perfectly ordinary, scrubs, stethoscope, gloves, rubber shoes. As she entered, though, her head was turned away, as though she was listening to someone speaking outside the room, and her face was not visible, just a curtain of straight, dark hair. DiNozzo's mask slipped abruptly. He froze mid-word, staring at her until she turned to face into the room. Then he relaxed, but by then both Joyce and his father were staring at him.

DiNozzo blinked at Joyce. "That shade of blue really sets off your eyes," he said, trying to pick up the conversation where it had left off.

"What is it, Tony?"

DiNozzo tilted his head. "Periwinkle, maybe? I'm not –"

Joyce shook her head. "No, what made you stop like that?" she asked.

He looked up at her, eyes wide as he let the nurse lean in and check his breathing. "I don't know what you mean, Joyce," he said innocently.

"You know perfectly well what she means, Anthony," DiNozzo senior said gruffly. "You stopped talking for a full second, and you looked . . . I don't know. Wooden."

The younger DiNozzo shrugged with forced nonchalance. "I didn't really notice," he said in a brittle voice. DiNozzo senior started to speak, but when Joyce shook her head, he subsided. Tony focused his attention on coughing for the nurse. When she was done with her tests, he looked up at her with a practiced charming smile. "So, is Nurse Emma on duty today, Ariceli?"

"She warned me about you," Ariceli said with a chuckle. "I'm married."

"That only matters if you take me seriously," DiNozzo said with a grin. "How am I sounding? Is there a whole wind section in there, or is it clearing out?"

"Reasonably clear," she said.

"So, when can I leave this charming place? Forgive my eagerness, it has nothing to do with you."

She shook her head, still smiling. "That's up to Dr. Pitt."

"Don't you even have an opinion?" Tony asked, wheedling.

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Are you hungry?"

"A little. I don't suppose you could have someone heat up that soup my boss is sitting on over there?"

"It's been out for hours, DiNozzo, I don't think it's a good idea," Gibbs said.

The younger man sighed. "Well, then I shall have to throw myself on your mercy, Nurse Ariceli."

She twinkled at him and left. Before his father could speak, Tony threw the covers off and swung out on Gibbs' side of the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" DiNozzo senior demanded. His son ignored him and made his way unaided to the bathroom where he closed the door with as firm a thump as the pneumatic hinge would let him. DiNozzo senior rounded on Gibbs. "Do you know why he reacted that way?" Gibbs shrugged, not willing to commit himself either way. "Well?" DiNozzo demanded.

"Leonard, he probably doesn't want to invade Tony's privacy."

"He's my son!" DiNozzo exclaimed.

"And he's a grown man," Joyce replied.

"Damn it, Joyce, whose side are you on?"

"In this situation, Tony's," she said calmly. "He's been through hell. He doesn't need you pushing him for a play by play of his emotional status."

"You asked the question."

"I can hear you in here," DiNozzo said loudly, and Gibbs closed his eyes, trying very hard not to laugh because it wasn't funny to any of them.

At that moment, Dr. Pitt came in. "Where's my patient?"

"Hiding from his father," Joyce said with a speaking glance at her husband who went back and sat down with an irritated grunt. She knocked. "Tony, Dr. Pitt's here."

Gibbs sobered up quickly. This farce wasn't going to help in DiNozzo's recovery.

"I want a private room!" Tony exclaimed from the bathroom.

"This is a private room!" DiNozzo senior replied.

A distinct and repetitive thumping could be heard from the bathroom and Gibbs pursed his lips. "DiNozzo?" he called.

The thumping stopped. "Yeah, Boss?"

"Stop banging your head against the wall." There was an audible sigh, but no more thumps.

"All right, you heard him," Dr. Pitt said. "Everybody out. You too, Gibbs."

Gibbs rose and followed the DiNozzos out.


End file.
